LIMITLESS
by innovare
Summary: A series of Garcia Flynn standalone stories featuring across various alternate timelines. Chapters are set during and after season 2. And filled with action and drama.
1. Dire Straits

**COPYRIGHT****: existing characters belong to NBC and the creators of Timeless. Story written for fan fiction fun.**

**AUTHO****R: lezaanv**

**SUMMARY: a**** series of Garcia Flynn standalone stories featuring across various alternate timelines. Chapters are set during and after season 2.**

**CHARACTERS:**** Garcia Flynn; Lucy Preston; Rufus Carlin; Wyatt Logan **

**PLEASE BE ADVISED****: story has not been beta'd. I apologize in advance for any mistakes. They are unfortunately mine.**

* * *

**DIRE STRAITS**

Like sleet, lumps of dirt rained down upon the blistering terrain. The landscape reverberated beneath torn and tattered bodies. Chaos reigned. Fury reigned. Death led the advance of stampeding armies. Cruel and merciless, it sowed and wreaked havoc as it continued to march forward.

The surroundings barely filtered through the sliver of his frayed vision. And all he could think was what century had finally used an inferno to subdue him; to subdue a man with a sole purpose and persistent intent.

Grabbing at the sludge, he pulled his weary body to a kneeling position and began to crawl. The world rocked, he lost balance, recuperating long enough only to collapse at another earthshattering tremor. His hands slipped. Knees gave way. He felt the air leave his lungs.

Shouts of anguish slithered through the unyielding bombardments.

Men were dying. Like liquid dye, blood stained the battlefield, soaking it with the lives of determined soldiers longing for home. And oh how did he long for home. The precious moments spent holding his daughter. Whispered sweet nothings to his lovely wife. What did these soldiers hold on to? What did they envision as they marked the symbol of death on the enemies' faces?

And then he remembered this wasn't his war, even if it did feel like it was.

Something malicious chased him. Never stopped chasing him. He had no outlet. No soul to save. He deserved this fate. He deserved to die in a century teeming with malice and thirst for ultimate supremacy.

If he couldn't save his family how could he protect another?

Rolling unto his back, his eyes noted the mesmerizing flashes of bombs streaking across the night sky. Fourth of July fireworks. New Year's Eve Celebrations. Upbeat festivals and breath-taking carnivals. Aspiring bands performing before boisterous crowds. All the heart-warming memories which came with an ignited sky, suddenly they were polluted by a limitless conflict that has spanned the centuries.

When did he become so morbid and callous?

"Why can't you just die?"

His ribs cracked. He recoiled with the sheer agony.

"Die already."

The military boot came down for another bone-crushing blow, and he caught it just as its sole touched fabric. With vehement willpower, he twisted. Like a bottle cap, a knee popped, the attacker's harrowing screams joining the hundreds of soldiers nearby.

This was his war. He could fight this war. He was good at it. This he could do.

Scrambling haphazardly to his feet, he towered above the cowering enemy. He aimed the pistol at her thigh and fired. The world quaked once more, he faltered, but this time stayed the course and seized the collar of the soldier's jacket. Shattered ribs protested. Muscles shredded along his torso. Blood flooded from a serrated gap on his forehead. Left ankle was numb and most likely broken. Even so, he hauled her to her feet.

He smirked haughtily as the anguished redhead dangled from his grip.

"Don't you know? It's not my time, just yet." A rasping laugh bubbled in his throat. "But I certainly won't complain about yours."

He placed the pistol to her temple, but found the resolve to pull the trigger for a second time lacking. She was the last link in the chain. The opportune moment in time to end this conflict forever, and he hesitates.

The woman snorted. "At a time like this? Now you have a heart?"

Soil exploded around them; peppered the lifeless bodies of brave American soldiers. His legs buckled slightly.

"Torn in two are we?" She continued drolly. "Kill me, your pursuit ends and then what? The timeline resets and we're back to a conflict with no limits."

He stared at her, confused and uncertain, but still determined to finish this one last mission. She cackled.

"Hell, what did they do to you, Flynn? You've murdered Rittenhouse members one after the other. And when you have the ideal opportunity to severe the link forever, you do what, _think_?"

The rumbling of advancing enemy troops edged closer. They heard more than saw the cluster of bullets as they zipped on by. Though Flynn stood unmoving, processing her snapping comments with deep reasoning.

"So am I the cause of your life's perilous journey?" She grabbed his wrist. He pushed the gun harder against her temple. "Think about it, Flynn. Am I truly the source of your soulless actions? Rittenhouse may be burnt to the ground. They may have no lifeline anymore, except for the one who initiated this time loop."

"Lucy?"

"She lured you into this fight."

"Rittenhouse killed my family."

"And who killed her legacy?"

"You did!" He yelled furiously.

"You did!" Emma returned just as venomously.

Flynn flung her to the ground and pointed the gun at her forehead. Snarled his frustration. She merely laughed at him as she rolled unto her side. Suddenly, his gaze snapped up as the first sound of a German tank pierced the air. He looked at her again. The weapon in his hand vibrated along with the soil dancing at his feet. This was it, his last attempt at salvaging years of chasing Rittenhouse; of assassinating men and women. However, the woman wasn't wrong in her bidden manipulations.

She spoke his question out loud. "Who made you the man you've become over the centuries?" His green eyes flickered with recognition. "Yes, your family died, but who handed you the tool to eliminate their murderers? Who gave you-"

"I know! I know." He grabbed his head.

A cannon shot rang out, it's shell worming its way through the hill off to the north.

She smirked slyly. "Who's the true cause of your pain?"

"Stop it."

"The Mothership can once again be yours. Come with me, Flynn."

"No, I've worked too hard for this."

"Your family's gone. What hope is there for you?"

"You think I'll find it with you? You want to destroy the only person who understands my agony."

Emma snorted derisively. "Her heart belongs to someone else. You belong to your family. How can you find comfort?"

The pistol slowly rose to aim at her head. It trembled. He couldn't fight his wounded body any longer and went down to one knee. She lunged for him, and met the side of his weapon as he fought her off. Groaning, she fell onto her back, head lolling with the brutal blow.

"You die when I die."

"_I_ live, Flynn. _You_ die."

"That's in another timeline."

"And nowhere do you get the girl."

"Never took you for the romantic type, Emma. Now be a good girl and shut up!"

"I'm alive because you need someone to stop you from _killing_ one more unarmed innocent!"

"You're far from it."

Eminent war was upon them as the sound of rushing boots entered the forest to the south.

"You're gonna let the Germans take the Mothership?"

In the distance, a ball of fire lit up the sky. Flynn laughed painfully. "There she blows."

Emma gawked in disbelief.

"Sixty seconds darling and we're sauerkraut."

"You destroyed it!"

"Looks that way." He coughed raspingly. Blood trickled down his wrist where he stifled it.

"They'll find yours." She persuaded.

He laughed at the irony. "Gone with the wind."

"You sent it back?"

"Oh, don't look so surprised, honey."

"You bastard!"

"Kept you occupied long enough."

He slumped over onto his side. Desperate, Emma clawed at the gun dangling from his slender fingers when a salvo of German shouts halted the effort. The small barrel of a Luger followed the procession and jabbed her head from behind. She heard laughter abound before the soft click of a trigger ended her struggle.


	2. Glimpse of her future

**GLIMPSE OF HER FUTURE**

The playful sound of children's laughter filled the air as he approached the park. Lagging in pace, he stopped on the sidewalk and scanned the dozens of families enjoying their day in the autumn sun. Burying his hands inside the pouch of the black sweater, he recoiled against the swift breeze which suddenly cut through the energetic park. Silhouette trees swirled. Withered leaves rushed on by his feet. His heart aching terribly until his eyes found the reason for the furtive visit.

There they were, bobbing along without notice of the stranger eagerly gazing at them from a distance. He felt a sense of relief and overwhelming delight at the picture of pure bliss. It was everything he'd hoped for. Longed for. Fought for. A reward in itself and still it pained him to know what future awaited. And yet still, it gave him strength and courage to do what he always did. Fight and to keep on fighting until everything they'd lost was redeemed. Restored back to its original state where the ones who endangered their peace were no longer a threat.

He breathed in deep, then exhaled the intake slowly. The wind returned, moved by him, and expanded as it journeyed over the blissful families engrossed in their picnics. It grabbed her laughter – a sound and scene he rarely witnessed, but now it would remain forever imprinted in his memory.

The girls joined her in laughing as they watched a shaggy dog play-fight for an orange frisbee. He couldn't help but enjoy the precious moment with them, even if it was from a remote location. And as if she knew someone was watching, her gaze snapped up from the commotion and she froze. He allowed her the moment of a stolen glance before he turned his back on them and walked away.

It was all he could do to keep her safe from an unnecessary glimmer of hope. Frankly, it was to keep himself sane and focused on the objective ahead.

He had glimpsed the future, gathered the encouragement needed to fulfil the mission planned by the team back in 2018. And now it was time to make sure this future took place. That she got everything worthy of having – happiness, peace and a family. Without heartache, pain and suffering, but a future filled with precious memories that would reach beyond her lifetime.

He weaved through the cars, heading for the nearest alleyway to slip from view in a moment, when he felt the tug at the hem of his sweater. This time he froze and swallowed against the strong emotion pooling in his chest. He had waited too long, this he knew from the fingers hesitantly curling around his wrist. He wasn't elusive enough, far enough in the shadows for her not to have noticed a man out of time.

"You're here?"

He took a deep breath and faced her. She had aged, and if it were possible, in beauty as well. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

She stepped into his arms, held him tight as he enjoyed the uncalled for embrace.

"You look good." She whispered.

It sparked a joy threatening to boil over. He smiled. "Same can be said of you. I miss our late night chats."

Easing up on her hold, she leaned back and looked up, noting the warmth in his green eyes. "We all miss you."

"I can imagine." He joked, keeping his composure. He couldn't afford these stolen minutes. It merely cracked his fortitude bit by bit.

Tears sparkled in her brown eyes, prompting a sadness to form in his. Instinctively, he pulled her closer to his chest and listened to her tender sobs.

"You're happy?"

"I am, yes."

"I'm glad, Lucy. It's what I want."

"You lost so much."

"And you gained a life you rightfully pursued."

"At what cost?"

"Don't, please." He stepped from her arms. "You know why. You have the journal."

Lucy wiped at her tears and placed a stray strand of brunette hair behind her ear. She nodded forlornly. "Keep history intact to preserve the future as it's meant to be."

"A historian knows best."

A sign of humour crinkled around his eyes. She snorted.

"And I'll always be the terrorist whom you chased through time."

"Redemption, Flynn. It's a road few travel by."

He shrugged and dug his hands into his jean's pockets. "Yeah, speaking of which."

"You should go."

"Time's of the essence. And whatever goes good with the saying."

A warm smile curled her lips as she stepped forward and tapped his chest. "There's still good inside you, Flynn. It's for you to find it."

"Oh, I know all too well, Lucy." His hand encircled hers where it rested upon his heart. "I'm sorry. You shouldn't have seen me. Are you okay?"

"I'm good. All of us are good."

"Yes, you are."

He backed away, smiling gently at her.

She sneered, shoving him towards the depths of the alley. "Go get 'em cowboy."

Flynn flicked a hand in the air as he walked away. "Don't mind if I do, Ma'am."

"And stop teasing Rufus." She called out after him.

"Sorry no can do."

"And my husband."

"Heck no. He desperately needs a stern talking to."


	3. Matter of Limitation

**MATTER OF LIMITATION**

"_You're a hero, I promise, maybe the greatest hero of us all."_

The four walls leaned in closer. Tighter and tighter they intruded upon the small room, until a pounding fist chased them back to their place. Imprisoned and knowing he was colder not only on the inside but on the outside, sent an unsettling tremor down his tall, slender frame.

He growled against the suffocating sensation.

"_You're going to have to sacrifice everything for a cause almost no one will believe in." _

Where had this frantic almost hypnotic vengeance of his lead him? Honestly, he had avoided the answer and scrutiny of a path determined by his persecutors. Even so, it never did stop him from wanting to turn the hands of time back to before it all began. Before life crumbled to pieces he could no longer fix.

"_The world will think you're a terrorist and a traitor."_

His other hand joined the other, slamming the wall with more vivacity than before. Sharp, numbing pain cascaded from his palms over his fingers, then dissipated.

"_And you're going to think you've lost your humanity."_

What would it take to stop those rippling effect of mistakes before they happened? What would he do with the choices forced to make then. It was just a matter of time before that life caught up and ended this cruel game of trivial pursuit.

"_But you didn't and you never will. You aren't any of those things."_

He faced the bed he called home for the past year and rubbed the ache from his forehead. Standing around alone, bruised and beaten, the thoughts reiterated once more.

"_You're going to save history." _

The jaw-dropping, bone-breaking dilemma had concluded, and all he did repeatedly was waste away another day, mind wrapped around past sins. He had to think about it. He had no other option worth considering. He needed a plan not built on sand sifting through. It wasn't too late to redeem what was lost. It only required another good decision that would alter the course of time.

"_But you're going to need my help."_

He lacked the courage. Lacked the strength to look her in the eye and not drown in shame. The shame of pursuing, terrorizing and nearly annihilating a team who, in the end, joined the same cause. But he had to clash with them, had to show them the better side of the fight. The good side of time jumping. And unfortunately, his humanity had dwindled. Remorse had drained from his emotions. Lost perspective, because the grief refused to shake itself free. Instead, it had dragged him under in to a black void.

What kind of monster stared at him in the mirror? How could he bare to look upon his reflection after so many years and still find a flicker of light? He never knew, never actually cared, just kept his head down and pushed ahead. Regardless of his undying obsession, unrelenting hatred and unnerving nature.

"_You're going to need my help."_ Her reassurance echoed once more.

He shook his head, closed his eyes and fought hard against the torrent of whirling thoughts. The last thing he wanted was to confess he needed help; _her_ help, _their_ help. But he couldn't tolerate this limitation any longer. He just needed to breathe without feeling constrained. Needed to walk without hearing hissing remarks. Look at her without his soul soaked in black tar. Sleep without the pang of guilt which would never stop consuming him.

Bluntly, he was tired of resisting.

Turning slightly, he opened his weary eyes and gazed to the cell door barring him from the outside world.

"I know you feel betrayed, Flynn."

His one hand hugged his hip. The other stroked his forehead.

"Believe me, if I knew what I know now. We could've avoided this bullshit."

The chair creaked behind him.

"I don't have the key to stopping Rittenhouse."

He sensed the approach and looked over his shoulder down at the subject of his inner turmoil.

"But I do know that together we can hopefully put a stop to this. Kick ass and save the world."

Silence overtook the small space, suspended between them until he heard her sit down.

"It's not so clear-cut."

"I never suggested it was."

"No one's as forbearing as you are."

"Didn't infer that either."

"You can't possibly believe things will change." He snapped his fingers. "Just like that."

"No expectations, but I'll take whatever or whoever I can get for this to work."

"I'm cruel. Vindictive. A-" He sighed before he faced her. "An assassin."

"Out of control, yes."

A wilful smile curled his lips. "That, too."

"Seeing as we're making excuses to not take down a powerful organization. Is there anything else you would like to add to this imaginary résumé?"

She watched how he raked a hand through his jet-black hair, then sat down on the lumpy bed behind him. He heaved a worn-out sigh, closing his eyes once more.

"You've never showed signs of retaliation. You practically begged me to join your killing spree. So what's really the problem?"

"You."

"Me?"

"Yes, you."

"Oh."

"We work together in the end. Doesn't say it happens smoothly."

"I thought."

"The journal takes priority?" His eyes opened and observed the shock on her silky facade. "I still have a conscience. What little is left of it. And I am master of my own destiny."

Lucy chuckled, amused by his bravado. She waved a finger at him. "No-no-no, I'm not backing down so easily. Renegade's part of the package deal, remember?"

The wayward smile returned as he leaned over and rolled onto his back. Placing his arm on his forehead, he snorted somewhat, knowing she inspected the strange behaviour with somewhat keen interest. So he hoped.

"It's a matter of limitation." He said after a minute's stillness.

"Bull, you have none."

"You do know what you're getting yourself into?" He peeked at her through one eye, enjoying the moment she sat back a touch aggravated.

"Turns out you do."

"Don't be so melodramatic, Lucy. I'm only certifying that this is what you want."

"What I want is for all of this to end. To no longer look over my shoulder in fear for my life. To live in the comfort of a gorgeous home, and sit in a stunning garden where I can reminisce the curiosity of an old friend. Without dreading if we ended the dream of an aspiring artist or maimed the next Mozart."

Titling his gaze towards her, he permitted her a glimpse of a soft, understanding expression. She frowned, uncertain why he desired for her to see him so open and vulnerable.

"I forgot what a daydream sounds like." He confessed barely audible.

"Oh."

Snorting once more, he looked to the ceiling. His hands overlapped one another atop his chest. "Save your pity." Then closed his eyes, feeling a strong fatigue familiar many years before.

"You're going to get it anyway. You've been through hell. I've been through it alongside you. And I am, no, I have given you the benefit of the doubt, dammit. We need you."

"Oh now stop, you're making me blush."

"Judging by your laidback position, you've made up your mind."

"No. Still thinking about it."

"Flynn, come on this is serious."

"So is this." He professed timidly.

Realization dawning, she nodded to herself. "How long, Flynn?"

"What?"

"Don't answer my question with a question."

"I don't – it's been so long. Four maybe fives years."

"I'm so sorry."

Her tone of voice induced a longstanding and valuable memory. He swallowed against the sorrow. "Not your fault."

"I gave you the journal. I initiated this time quest."

Eyes ablaze, he locked eyes with her as he sat upright. She recoiled with the sudden, brusque action. Detecting the fear he still provoked, he felt a sense of guilt. A grimace crinkled his expression.

"Rittenhouse started this when they murdered my family. You gave me the direction I needed. What happened in between is not your fault."

"Flynn."

"No, Lucy. I had freewill to choose, and I chose to stop them regardless if I lost my heart and mind along the way. I allowed it to destroy me. Don't let it destroy you. Don't let it destroy the team. You need each other to complete what you, Lucy Preston, started in the future."

"It's in the past, actually." To stress the point, her index finger indicated at the wall to her left.

He glared at the action, then at her deadpan countenance before his harsh expression eased and a deep chuckle resonated in the room. "What?"

"Well, I gave you the journal in the past. Not the future. So technically it's-"

"I get it."

"Just making sure the narrative stays the course."

"It's one word out of place."

"The ramifications are immeasurable."

"So they are." For once, he allowed a full-blown smile to lighten up his jagged facial features. "So they are."

Lucy joined him in smiling. "See, I knew you were in there somewhere."

"I appreciate the gesture. Really, I do. Thank you."

"We will finish this, Flynn." She said on a different note.

The smile faded from his lips. His expression turned sombre. "And then what?"

"Cynic."

"Realistic."

"Okay, I haven't thought that far. Yet. But you'll be the first to know."

"And I'm sure I'll be honoured when you do."

Both stood. Flynn feeling lighter than before she intruded upon his dark musings. And Lucy looking hopeful and determined.

"Give a man and a woman a cause and they'll run with it."

Pondering the statement briefly, he raised a thinking eyebrow for her to see. "Give them a chance at redemption and they'll surpass any obstacle in the way."

"Together they'll be strong and courageous."

"Victorious, in other words."

"And relentless."

"You should note that in your journal." She gave him a serious look. He rectified playfully. "For future references, of course."

"Of course."

"Ah, but if wishes were horses, beggars would ride. If that guard over there." His finger gestured at the short, perplexed man looking into his cell from the passage outside. "Was real, I would know you weren't. Alas that is the sad thing isn't it, guard?"

The man eyed him dubiously. "What are griping about now?"

Flynn bounced on the balls of his feet, hands firmly gripping his hips, as an unruly smile quirked his lips. "Nothing but enjoying a feverish delusion it seems."

"Well, do it quietly. You're disturbing the other inmates."

"Now, now, I think you're the one I'm scaring, Shorty. Don't hide it, I know it."

"Don't flatter yourself." Unamused the guard turned and walked away. "Doesn't take a degree to see you've gone off the deep end."

"Yes, not much I'm afraid." Flynn muttered to himself. "Not much at all."


	4. Deviating Lines

**DEVIATING LINES**

It had to head here. Why did it have to lead here?

Infuriated, he entered the small canyon, leaving the gravel road behind for one shifting to a rough terrain plastered with jagged stones, dense shrubbery and underground springs. He snarled at the lack of adequate cover, but if the setting hindered their getaway, it would slow them down for sure. Nevertheless, what lay beyond this ascent was a different story completely.

A furious protest reverberated in his chest.

The route grew steeper, the rocks growing with each meter he gained, making the escape that much more unsatisfactory. With a sturdy intake of breath, he leapt for a boulder to the right, and then like a smooth stone bouncing along a pond's surface, he jumped from one to another. And continued to master the obstacle course, while from behind, the well-known sound of Wyatt's tread tediously synced with his large strides.

The running filled his thoughts with the skilful dance of drumsticks on hi-hat cymbals from Sinnerman. Even saw the cunningly elusive scene from the Thomas Crown Affair. Men with bowler hats, honey-brown briefcases, and black suits walking the museum like they owned it, masterfully hiding Pierce within their deception. He loved it. Loved the way elusion could be so obvious and yet so elegant, and still manage a splendid, sly exit. Although, today of all days, there were no such precision or skilful artists to hide his rugged features from view. No, today a dry, open wilderness held his fate by a thin black cord.

To the west, a sheer cliff formed and increased the more they scaled the rising canyon. Below and inside this gorge, foaming white water roared forward at a rapid speed and resumed to gain momentum. In the distance, it dropped forty-five meters down in to a harrowing descent, where with open arms a boisterous basin waited in welcome. Its churning belly, unfortunately his destination.

A familiar angst pressed hard against his chest.

The path fell away ahead. Their pursuers had no desire of stopping and they had nowhere to go but forward. His feet left solid ground behind as nothing but air replaced it.

Wyatt's fierce scream of negate and frustration along with gunshots bellowed from above. He ignored it, and extended his arms and hands before him. The rest of his body imitated that of an expert diver's profile and slanted down.

Dew from the waterfall served as a refreshing coolant and elicited a bout of gooseflesh over his skin. Curious, he opened his eyes and marked green, lavish forests stretching for miles on end across the horizon. Whereas beyond it, stood various ragged peaks dipped in a snowy blanket.

For brief seconds, his eyes fluttered shut, allowing everything including the impulsive nosedive to vanish, then fixated on the cool breeze covering him from head to toe in a soft garment.

"_I have to keep running. This is who I am. And I'm not going to beg you to let me do this. I have to; need to. Otherwise, everything I know slips away."_

"_But if you don't stop and take a breath, accept my offer, then their sacrifices would be for nothing."_

The blunt declaration forced his eyes open.

The tips of his fingers breached the water, parting its raging surface to enter its ghoulish abyss. As if a missile, he descended deeper and deeper into the depths below, until several torrents smacked against his body with horrendous blows. Fear erupted within and fuelled the attempt to reach the surface, but his mind was a blur. He couldn't think straight, couldn't break through the panic that took him by force.

The world endured to spiral, changing between the surface and rock bottom in an awkward yet spellbinding spin. Even so, he stilled altogether and banished the rushing emotions tearing at his psyche, rather fought for a way to tag along with a mounting stream. Again, his mind fogged up and felt like imploding, but then the awaited upward thrust hauled him downstream.

From the river's underbelly razor sharp shards cut at his clothes, skin, flesh, at times deep to the bone. Regardless, he submitted himself to the strong current when unexpectedly a picture of D.D. Eisenhower flashed in his mind.

He could never figure out what they wanted with the man. In all honesty, a lot of information provided by a woman from the future led to numerous and vexing dead ends. Eisenhower, regrettably, had been one of those and he was so sure it would alter history for their good. How could it not? The man had been a former army five-star general and a supreme commander of the Allied Expeditionary Forces in Europe. And seeing as he'd also been responsible for the Space Race, the man had clout no doubt, and so the list went on.

Had they planted a sleeper agent to assassinate him or was he a man worthy of turning?

It made it difficult to know whether it would ultimately lead to the end of Rittenhouse or rather strengthen them. Either way, the end of their pursuit sent the game plan hurling far away from the journey's end. It had drifted so far out of reach, it was hopeless, and for a curt instant, his boiling rage disappeared, because the vengeance no longer led the chase. It no longer damaged those around him. Instead, it had evaporated like vapour in the wind, giving way to purpose and meaning.

Yes, he had meaning once more and now he'd taken it with him down a cliff.

Without warning, a severed tree knocked the lingering air from his lungs. Sent him writhing for the glittering surface quick as lightning. Breaching the water just in time, his hands clawed after the log and held on tightly. Slowly, it ushered him closer to shore where he finally collapsed in an inert heap.

Turned out Eisenhower was never a target to murder or to control. Rather, they'd used the man to lure and to distract to get to him and to Lucy. To eliminate the only other players who virtually knew everything about their rogue organization.

* * *

The terrible sensation of hard driven tacks throbbed in his head, likewise over his torso where gauze wrapped around it loosely. Nothing was broken, but burning infections dotted his arms, upper body, and lower limbs. All injures which were covered in bandages.

The depiction of a mummy came to mind, which caused a devious sneer to curve along his lips, and then something important nagged in the back of his mind. He struggled to get a hold of it, though it seemed important.

A soft, petite hand slid into his callused one and squeezed gently, kindly, mercifully. Eyes fluttering open, he groaned against the sharp glint. Afterward, heaved a wobbly sigh.

"How long?"

"Five days. The team's been looking after you in shifts. Just so happened to wake up during mine. Fortunately."

"Mmm, fortunately."

"What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking Tahiti's nice this time of the year."

"Be serious."

Mustering some much-needed strength, he allowed his eyes to shift in her direction. Clear concern brimmed in her eyes, wrinkled her forehead, and knowing he was the cause averted his gaze.

"I am . . . being serious." The tickling at the recesses of his mind became clearer and he moved towards her. "It was-"

"A setup." She calmed him, helping him to lay back down. She took a seat and watched him through narrowed eyes. "We know. We figured it out after you orchestrated your dramatic exit. The others called you a crazy bastard. I thought it was . . . blunt."

He smiled wickedly at the term he knew came from the Delta Force Wyatt. Rufus, well, he still needed to compensate for the time he almost shot him. That was, if he ever forgave him for being the spy who signed his death warrant. Lucy, on the other hand, had seen his smug stubbornness too many times for his liking. Almost as if these kind of behaviours whenever they time-jumped no longer feigned her. She expected them.

"And how long do you think this stunt of yours will fool Emma and her henchman? You barely made it out alive."

"It was the point. Proof of death, and now I can move in the preferred shadows without their knowing."

"Did you ever think to include me? Us? The team?"

Smiling slyly, he wiggled his eyebrows at her, then instantly regretted the action as the headache intensified. He teased anyhow. "A great deal of subtext in those questions."

"Flynn."

"Lucy."

"I think you enjoy torturing yourself far too much."

The brisk, blasé remark struck an unsettling nerve and he growled somewhat. Lucy cringed with the raspy sound and braced for a heated reprimand.

"I'll do whatever it takes to make up for my mistakes. If it means hurdling off a cliff, then so be it. I don't regret it. And I'm too damn sore and exhausted to argue the finer lines of chivalry, or what you consider to be my sense of duty."

She gave him a curt wave. "Fine."

"Fine."

"No."

"No?" Flynn chuckled flippantly.

"Stop patronizing me."

Calm replaced the verbal contest and instead exhilarated the tension between them. They kept their eyes locked with one another, seeking to oust the other, though as the glaring continued so did the truth of the matter.

"You didn't lose me." He whispered sheepishly.

Shaking her head, she crossed her arms and sat back. "It's not the issue."

"What is?"

"That you'll never stop doing these heroic sacrifices until its permanent."

"As long as there's hope, I'm never going to stop trying to save the world from Rittenhouse."

"You've got too much faith placed in us."

"In you, Lucy. The team, it's merely a comical bonus." He marked the disapproval in her eyes. "I'm tired, and not at all tolerant."

"What, not the warm welcome you expected?"

He winced at her exasperated scoff. "You've made your disapproval quite clear."

"I don't think you fully grasp the creek you're in."

"Full-well expected your anger. And since you like facts, here's one for you. It ain't for the entertainment."

"Could've fooled me."

"Exactly."

"And you don't seem to care that I care one damn bit. Seeing as you like clues, here's one for you. It's not pity."

A pause occurred while both found a spot in the room to look at. He felt the exhaustion both emotionally and physically. And yet one way or another, this woman sitting across from him wanted a confession he refused to provide.

"We've been at this for years. How much longer until it infringes upon our effort?"

"It has. And I'm sick and tired of bonding over near death experiences."

"It comes with the territory. You live with it."

"Like you've done?"

"No one walks out of a battle unscathed, even if some do appear spick and span at the end. It mars the best of soldiers." He huffed an aching sigh. "I may not be up to par with you Lucy, but I've accepted our fate."

Scooting the chair closer, she leaned forward to gaze directly at him, though he kept avoiding her scrutiny. Guilt, loss, and exhaustion teemed in those green eyes of his. It struck a chord of compassion in her heart.

"You still trust the book?" She asked in a gentle whisper. "After so many roadblocks, you still believe it's the key to stopping Rittenhouse?"

"We may not have figured out everything. But you can't deny its usefulness."

"But apparently you can deny your usefulness."

"And we're back to square one."

"'This is who I am. I'm not going to beg you to let me do this. I have to; need to. Otherwise, everything I know slips away'. Sound familiar?"

"I'm not giving you what you want, Lucy."

"Yeah, and what's that, hmm?"

"'I am sorry and I'll never risk my life ever again'. It's not who I am."

"I never wanted the confession, Flynn." She acknowledged matter-of-factly, causing him to stare at her. She smirked, knowing she had his full attention now. "I need you to stop thinking you're an island lost at sea."

"Illustrative." He joined her in smiling.

"Thank you. And I want you to see that you have a future here, and not only because you're safeguarding mine. However grateful I am you'll do anything to save me, not everything is about me."

"How can you not hear the connotations, woman?"

"Stop it." Lucy rebuked light-heartedly.

They shared a humorous chuckle for a little before she relaxed again.

"So dying's off the table?" He questioned jadedly.

"For another few days or so, yes. Until then, you focus on getting better." She stood and grabbed a history book on martyrs from the shelf behind her. Returning to the chair to find his eyes closed, with the smug smirk still evident on his lips. "And Jiya badly wants a break from being shot at. Hell, we all could use a break."

Sneaking a peek at her reading material, he knew the topic selected was done so on purpose. He ignored it with a snort and teased. "For Jiya I'll most certainly try, Ma'am."

"You do that. The rest of us can use a good derisive repartee every so often."

"I told you I was the fun one."

A coy smile curled her lips. "Good night, Garcia."

"Good night, Professor Preston."


	5. Magnificent Quandry (part 1)

**MAGNIFICENT QUANDARY (Part 1)**

"Now I've been very patient." The infuriated cowboy placed the nine-millimetre pistol against the rancher's head. "And I'm not a patient man. I'm malicious. Impulsive. Rampant. It gets the job done. No one's complaining either. They know it all too well. You, on the other hand, are the irritable bale who broke the camel's back."

"Flynn!"

His head turned towards where the scream came from the back of the worn-out church. He shouted in reply. "Go already!"

"We're not leaving you here."

"I-I-I thought no one complained." The rancher bravely remarked.

"Not yet." He hissed at him, then pointed at the wooden crosses for headstones facing them. "They sure aren't." He smirked as he noted the terror on the man's face. Afterwards shouted a command over his shoulder. "Get out of here! I'll be right behind you."

In concert, they watched as the two men hesitated. When after a quick hand gesture on Flynn's part, they urged the remainder of the town's people for the hill towards safety.

"Okay, wise guy. Let's start again, shall we? Where's the women you abducted and then so graciously lost?"

"They were women?"

The snarky comment earned him a hard blow to the cheek. He spat blood to the side, stroking the sweltering skin where weapon had struck jaw.

"I've danced with the worst of 'em. Killed them, too. You don't want to evoke that kind of wrath, Joshua." He directed the hefty man's vision towards the distant sound of pounding hoofs. "Now, once more with feeling. What happened?"

"T-t-two men attacked us in a dry ravine late last night. Before I could return fire, I was light's out. When I woke up, they were gone. All of my stuff, gone with them."

"Which direction?"

The rancher tried to worm away from the firm grip around his throat, but Flynn kept him in place. Next, he followed the direction of the petrified amber eyes as they gawked at the dirt path running through the small mining town. The regiment on horseback touched its outskirts, with rifles pointed directly them. He knew he'd waited longer than anticipated, still he required the necessary incentive to loosen the rancher's tongue.

"Let go of me."

"We're not done yet." He bit back.

"I said my part. Please, I don't wanna die here."

"That's too bad."

Withdrawing his fist for a striking blow, the wrinkly man quickly squealed his protest. Flynn smiled roguishly, raising his eyebrow, urging him to say his piece.

"They wanted them for leverage."

"And?"

"To get some kind of boat."

"Lifeboat?"

"Yeah, yeah, that's what they said. Now please, lemme go."

"What direction?"

"I don't know." He whined in a rickety tone. "Shit should I know."

"To live you should, yes."

"Aw c'mon, son." He hesitated slightly, then quickly blurted out. "To the Mexican border. For reinforcements."

"Good enough." Flynn lobbed the nine-millimetre at his head, watched as he toppled over before sprinting for his horse. "Yah!" He spurred him on and set off for the border to the south.

During the desperate flight, dozens of erratic scenes spilled into his thoughts. Some were imagined confessions. Awkward experiences. Where he lacked self-confidence. Fear, dread, doubt. Missions he'd failed. Men and women he'd lost on assignments. Like a tidal wave, they came flooding in without restraint, making him grit his teeth harder. His one hand held his hat from gliding along with the wind. The other hand flicked the reins from one side to other, urging the black beauty to the brink of its speed.

"_I feel like I understand you, Lucy. You're strong, daring, stubborn as hell. You've endured so much, and still, you didn't let it consume you. I know that kind of pain. I know you."_

He shook free from the reverie and growled at the horse. "Come on. C'mon!"

"_What I meant was. I would like to get to know, know you. Irrespective of what the journal says."_

The uncomfortable encounter came and went, rather he focused on the wilderness brush as it blurred on by. On the horizon, the town's folk appeared like migrating boulders, but then became clearer as the space between him and them swiftly reduced. Some scruffy-looking boys at the back of the pile jumped up and down, waving as he sped by. Them too, he ignored, until he pulled up alongside Wyatt and Rufus.

"They want the lifeboat." He said without waver.

"What?"

"Why?"

Flynn gave Rufus a vexed look. An action the nerd quickly found offensive.

"Geez, dude, just a question."

"It's the cost of your precious fingers, _dude_."

"Flynn, where?" Wyatt pushed.

"The border. I'm guessing it's a way to sandwich us between clashing forces. Use these people to limit our manoeuvrability."

"How will that help them get the lifeboat?"

"Gee, I don't know, Rufus. Perhaps we die defending these poor defenceless people while Emma rides into the sunset. Hell, she even gets to pick which horse she wants."

Slighted, the nerd gazed to his soldier friend riding on the white horse beside him. "Remind me why we agreed to work with him again."

"What are our options?"

"First of all, we should steer these folks away and let them find a path to safety on their own."

"Yeah and secondly?" Rufus insisted rudely.

"Avoid both advances, and wait for cover of nightfall. That will be within the next hour or so."

"How long until the regiment reaches their destination?" Wyatt queried.

"This is the American-Mexican war we're talking about here. Time, I think, is irrelevant at this point. We're right there on the edge of disputed territory."

"It wasn't my idea to evacuate the town."

"You're saying I'm responsible for this?"

"If the shoe fits."

"Guys, c'mon." Wyatt interrupted in a vexed tone. "It's Jiya and Lucy. We have to get them back before Emma finds the lifeboat."

Recognition flashed in Flynn's eyes. "It's a distraction. Dammit, why didn't I think of it sooner?" He swung the horse away and further stated over his shoulder. "Old man rancher lied to me. They're not headed for the border to gather reinforcements."

"They knew we would concentrate on getting the people away from the army, whilst staying clear of the assault."

"Misdirection?" Rufus supposed with a scowl.

"Yeah, now come on. What are you waiting for?"

"Now wait, just hang on a sec." Rufus began a bit confused, observing as Wyatt turned to follow Flynn. "Is he implying what I think he's implying?"

"They're going to leave us here, if that's what you're implying."

"Hell no. No way are they gonna kill my Jiya." He got a glare from his friend. "And Lucy."

Wyatt's lips curled with a soft smirk. "Let's go. I'm sure the priest will help these people get wherever they need to go."

"Where are we going?" The soldier asked as they caught up with Flynn's charge.

"I'm going to the place where they were kidnapped. Retrace their steps from there. And you're headed for the lifeboat."

"No way-"

"The women would've stalled them by this time. Chances are we'll meet up there anyway."

"So we're ambushing them instead?" Rufus intervened.

Flynn flashed a smug smile. "Now you get."

* * *

His heart beat wildly, the risk at a critical high as he crouched atop the roof of the derelict two-storey saloon. An unlikely pick, but it was a dark night, the moon providing enough light to barely distinguish friend from foe. Still, the vantage point provided an extensive view over the wasteland, that, and of the lifeboat where it stood unattended behind another collapsed building.

Flynn inhaled against the strong, overwhelming sensation beating in his chest. It trembled down his frame, fought against the calm in his mind. Its familiarity invaded his focus, pushed him to act, to fight, to kill. He inhaled for a second time, staving off the impulse. This situation was unlike the night where he'd lost his wife and child. Here he had oversight, prediction, the element of surprise. Whoever got in his way, they would notice the force of nature too late.

He would save her, them, despite this fraught desperation forcing him to set out like sprinters from their starting positions. Come what may, he would keep her safe. Even if meant allowing this pure charge of feelings to drive him into the heart of the ambush. He would correct what he'd failed to do years ago. He would protect the only other person whom he truly cared for.

They appeared then, closer than predicted and his eyes locked onto Lucy's bloody face. Concern inflamed his chest. The atmosphere slowed down. Shots pierced the cool evening air. He set off, running lengthwise with the roof, opening fire upon the assailants as they created a perimeter around the lifeboat. Down and to his right, a lone cowboy broke from the pack, darted for him, and returned fire.

"Flynn! No!"

Her voice cut the air. A bullet zipped by his head, and he leapt for the broken rooftop crosswise from him, reaching out to grab it but missed its ledge by fractions. Suddenly, the world blinked out of existence as he struck the side of the building, then tumbled to the ground. Alarm imploded inside his body as his left side hit a collapsed chunk of wall.

"No way he survived the fall." The voice said close by.

"Check it out anyways." Another male voice instructed. "He's as dogged as they come."

Struggling to breathe, Flynn pulled himself to his feet. Holding onto the chunk of stone that had broken his fall, when an elbow hit his back. The blow kept him pinned down, and applied ample weight to his injured side. He responded with an elbow of his own, knocking the man square in the face, turned and thrust him away with a boot to the stomach. The assailant stumbled back, cradling his side, winded and swaying. Flynn came for him in an unsteady rush, kicked at his right knee, lobbed a cracking blow to his jaw, then grabbed the back of his head and forced him down. However, the assailant countered the oncoming knee with both hands, but failed to stop the stomp to his shoulder. His back hit the wall behind him, and fell unto his rump unconscious.

In the backdrop, the welcoming sound of a firefight boomed, announcing Wyatt and Rufus had joined the assault.

Out of breath, Flynn doubled over, finally feeling the brunt of the fall take its toll when a body rammed against his back, sending them sprawling to the ground. He scrambled to his feet, but received a boot to his right inner thigh, pushing him into a kneeling position and placed him in danger. The attacker snaked an arm around his neck, then tightened the chokehold.

His airway constricted, precious breath diminishing by the second. In retort, he shoved against the man's elbow once, twice, thrice. However, laugher erupted from behind, the world fading slowly as the hold refused to subside.

An image of a terrified Lucy flashed before him then, a dreadful reminder of his failure. It felt overwhelming and overpowering, as her life took priority above his own and pushed him to his feet. He drove his attacker back and redirected their bodies for the wall. A thwack echoed in his ear. The sound of a head striking stone followed. The hold suddenly loosened around his neck and the man fell at his feet, down for the count.

Bracing himself, his eyes searched the reddish soil for his gun, and once located, bent down to collect it and limped from the house towards the noise of the roaring mêlée.

Anger burned within. Angst tore at his heart. His frame was damaged from the fall, drained by the wrestling and yet amped by the adrenaline high. Like a fountain, it surged through him, fed the rage and bitterness. Sent his fear and anguish to flight, and soon exchanged it for the swelling urge to walk through the blaze and execute anyone in his way.

Shouts of warning barely penetrated the resilience as he turned the corner and locked eyes with the redhead holding a gun to Lucy's head. Another was aimed at Jiya's head. His own weapon lifted willingly, shot at the men to their left and right, and then reverted it to the women.

The lifeboat stood waiting behind them. A malicious smile curled Emma's lips. Dread masked Lucy and Jiya's faces. Someone tackled him from behind, falling knees first to the ground, and then hurled him unto his back. Gun poised, Flynn shot once, twice, directed the gun to the right and shot for a third time. Three men collapsed in accord, a fourth aiming a rifle at him from the left. Both men shot simultaneously.


	6. Magnificent Quandry (part 2)

**MAGNIFICENT QUANDARY (Part 2)**

Back from the past, Flynn quickly disappeared from view, making sure to avoid the dreaded interrogation in regards to a near loss. Lifeboat and lives included.

In his carelessness, the strategic ambush had failed miserably. He couldn't deal with the repercussions just yet, so he did the only thing rational at this point. He walked away, straight for his haven.

In the backdrop, he heard her call his name a few times, along with agitated voices panicking over the state of the other men. He couldn't face her, not now, not after the measures he'd taken to save her from being executed. But mostly because of how terrible she looked, and in what manner he'd almost lost another person he cared about.

Limping into his room, he sensed her crisp strides follow as she shut the door behind them with a soft, hasty rap. His back stayed to her while straining to wriggle from the old western jacket, then stiffened when the tips of her fingers touched his shirt's collar. They moved down his spine along with the jacket as she helped him from its grip.

"How you manage to come back with torn jacket after torn jacket is beyond me."

He smiled at that, doing a slow wobbly turnabout to face her. His face appeared dejected, scratched, discoloured, and he cradled his left side where it had connected with the chunk of wall. She hissed at the sight.

"Agents aren't so much into style as they are into killing."

He tried to appear nonchalant, but couldn't look her in the eye as guilt promptly replaced it.

"How do you do it?"

The inquiry caught him by surprise, then schooled a blank expression. "An unusual question late at this stage. Don't you think?"

Her eyes pleaded for a truthful response. He shrugged as if his line of work was nothing. "It's what I know to do to keep people safe. It's not a sport, and it is why you recruited me, no?"

"Yes, it is."

Sensing it wasn't quite what she expected, he leaned against the desk behind him. The movement didn't bode well for the protesting wounds spotting his body. He winced. "What's this really about, Lucy? You didn't corner me in my room just to question something we've already established."

"You're different." Her brown eyes flitted to him then to the floor so rapidly he almost missed the sincerity shimmering in them.

She continued. "As of late you've been accommodating. At least, in your own abrasive way you've been trying to adjust to working with the team. Why? It's not like you care about their approval."

Flynn stared at a loss for words, processing the reason why she currently avoided what happened on the mission. His eyes trailed her as she moved towards the bed and sat down, keeping her eyes away from him purposefully. She also hid a great deal of agony herself.

"I see it in your eyes." He began, then cleared his throat before resuming in a softer tone of voice. "They were full of hatred, horror, confusion. Didn't blame you. You saw only what Rittenhouse wanted you to believe, what I wanted you to believe. Fact is; I did become the monster they proposed. But now, after everything that's happened. The loss you experienced. The terrible things you had to do to survive. When you look at me, I see . . . understanding."

Lucy looked at him and noticed he regarded the door, his gaze far off while his face showed anguish.

"After I lost my family. Met the future you two weeks later. Dove down the rabbit hole to exact my revenge, seeing where it led me and now working with you and the team. The look in your eyes is the first time I. I don't know. Guess I realized I am of value. Plus, I get to poke fun at Rufus. Squabble with Wyatt – a preferred pastime of mine." He chuckled to himself. "Silently enjoy the company of our nutty inventor and boss lady Denise. Laugh at Jiya's wit. Read. Converse with you. Time travel."

Standing, he unbuttoned the navy blue waistcoat shakily, deadly quiet and morose as he did so. She stood as well, frowning at the strange conduct.

"I'm really shattered aren't I?" He said just before noticing the amount of blood staining his white cotton shirt. "And literally cracked." He stiffened.

Lucy had moved quietly and without notice, and now stood in front of him, with her eyes begging to look up at her. His trembling fingers froze on the last button of the waistcoat, deliberating the true motive of her presence. There'd been no interval to fully decompress, she'd caught him at his lowest. And judging from her expression, the intrusion had meaning. Just as well, he was as vulnerable on the inside as he appeared. The truth would flow without the strength of willpower.

"What are you doing?" He asked.

Her hand entered his peripheral view and moved for his chest. Soft fingers lightly touched the area above his heart. Warmth radiated underneath the touch. He desperately sought to withdraw from the unwarranted conduct, but instead found himself drawn to the small consideration. Next, she placed her forehead beside her hand.

He stood astounded, with arms widely spread to keep them balanced.

It had been years since someone showed this much regard or care for a man of his particular skillset. Frankly, the conduct, especially from her, provoked unease and insecurity. For all the hurt he had caused her, expressly today, he didn't deserve this amount of consideration. However, he did deserve the sudden pounding of her other hand against his chest. The deed merely adding more agony to his already aching body.

"Hey, hey, Lucy. It's okay. It's okay."

The imploring fell on deaf ears and he threw caution to the wind, curling his arms around her taut body in a gentle embrace. It stilled her rash movements and eased the thrashing on his chest, fortunately.

"It's okay, you're still in shock."

"No, it's not."

"Yes, I admit it was a close one. As luck would have it, we got out sooner and not later."

"Barely. The team's badly injured."

His strong surge of guilt made it difficult to breath. He swallowed. "I know, I know. And I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have."

He allowed her the moment of solace for a few minutes longer before he let go and fell back to sit on the corner of the desk. Lucy finally recognized the extent of his ragged state and stepped towards him. Flynn raised his hand, shook his head for her to stay back, then heaved an aching groan.

"I've got it."

"No, you don't, Flynn."

"Lucy." He warned in a low growl, stopping her advance for a second time. "The others need your help. Please, I got this."

"You obviously need it as much as they do." She inched closer. "Just let me-"

"No!" His hand lifted again to keep her away, and further stressed his point by glaring up at her. "No, I don't."

Lucy recoiled at the anger in his eyes, but stayed nonetheless. "I'm not leaving until I say we're done."

"You saw me, Lucy. My recklessness set us back by a sore margin. I don't deserve-" He looked away in embarrassment, then after long tiresome minutes returned his attention to her. "To be honest, I have grown . . . attached."

Like iced water, the atmosphere turned rigid. Traces of tensed electricity intruded upon its inert state as they gazed at one another. Flynn was the first to break eye contact and collapsed in his chair. Slowly, he tore the shirt where his side hurt and noticed fragments of rock protruding from there and another thicker piece from his hip. These he swiftly pulled from their positions one after the other, snarling as the areas burned and throbbed profusely. Leaning forward, he breathed through it before examining the remainder of his body for more injuries.

Meanwhile, Lucy observed the scene with trembling lips and moist eyes, faithfully keeping her distance as per his request. Still, the urge to aid intensified and stirred heartache. Standing around watching this seemed crueller than watching him risk what little he had.

"I didn't mean for it to happen." Flynn said as he rummaged through a drawer for his personal medic-kit and a clean shirt.

"But it did."

"Not without resolve."

"I believe you."

"My past and the book did contribute to the fact."

"I assumed."

Shuffling to the bed, he sat down awkwardly and held out the kit for her to take. Lucy hesitated at first, noting he avoided looking at her, but then conceded and opened it. She took her seat to the left of him and regarded the nasty bruises and lacerations covering his side and hip.

"It's unreliable, and frankly I didn't want it to govern how either of us should or shouldn't feel. And then there's my status as a rebel who allegedly killed his own family, and then went on to wreak havoc through time. It's not the sort of wingman you'd like rooting for you."

She dabbed a cotton swab dipped in disinfectant graciously along the abrasions, Flynn recoiling with a hiss when it burnt like a scorching fire. With the stab injuries bandaged, she moved to his forehead, jaw and split lip. He was quiet; eyes closed, allowing her to continue the process in silence.

Gratefully, no stitches were required. The specifics of a fractured rib or two he kept to himself, along with possible discolorations soon to appear on his back and stomach. The rest of his body had minor cuts he would care for later.

"My conduct also contributed to the fact." She admitted after a while.

"Only because I pushed you to trust me."

"You gave me a choice." She paused, looking on as he painfully shrugged into the olive green shirt. He faced her and dug more bandages from the kit.

"I took it as a way to learn more about the man behind the arrogance and outspoken remarks." Lucy smirked smugly at that.

He raked a hand down the side of his face, laughing at how candid she was. "It's just. Of course, you're right. I'm not the kinda guy who beats around the bush. Mind you, I wasn't as abrasive and cut-throat, but after life's harsh blows, it changes a person."

He looked to her and eyed the deep gash on her left eyebrow, causing her to frown. After dipping a swab in the red liquid, he attended to it. She bit back a whimper.

"And for as long as this drags on, all I'll ever be is what I'm so very excellent at."

"A protector, naturally."

"You're appeasing."

"I'm being honest."

"Forthright is my forte, Lucy. My insolence and obsession got me into this mess. Please don't dig me out of it. I'm a big boy, I can handle myself."

Capturing her left arm in his hand, he gently felt for fractures and once satisfied with the examination determined she'd suffered a sprained wrist.

"And?" Lucy asked after having managed to conceal how badly it hurt.

"Sprained and definitely not broken."

"I meant."

"I know what you meant." He turned away. "I'm fresh out of reasons." Next, he grabbed the hem of the bed sheet and tore off a sliver long enough to use as a binding.

"Uh okay, you didn't have to do that."

"Like it's going to complain." Flynn grinned, shook his head slightly and then made sure the lesions were clean before wrapping her wrist. "There, all done."

He sat back and braced himself against the wall, hugging his left side and stifling a moan as it protested with the movement. His eyes closed with the deed, which in a way kept him from glimpsing her fragile countenance. Although, he still heard her irregular intakes of breath. Once again, he was the source of the pity.

"You didn't have to do this." She looked away to the door. "I could've-"

"It's the least I can do. And you just performed first-hand patch-up work on a stubborn ass. At some point, you'll have to use extreme measures. Plus, I think Wyatt should give you and the others self-defence classes. For when we're separated and can't reach you in time."

"Hm-mm I see, especially after today's devastating mix-up."

"Naturally. And oh how satisfying it will be to know the shoe's on the other foot for a change."

Smirking, she joined him in sitting against the wall. They remained in a comfortable silence when Lucy sneaked a peek at his downcast countenance. Noticed his breathing had evened. Head lolled away from her, seemingly unconscious.

"You seem to forget we weaklings are weathered experts by now. We know how to defend ourselves when absolutely necessary."

"Lucy, go. I'm – I don't need-" Flynn paused not wanting to insult her for being kind and traded the brash thought for an honest one. "The company's appreciated, but I can't sit anymore."

As if to emphasise the point, his back slid along the wall, Lucy hastily giving him the space needed to adjust to lay on his uninjured side.

"Oh yeah, before I black out, a rib's definitely fractured. Definitely got an insanely painful shoulder. Hamstring feels like a snapped toothpick. I think two or three horses did a number on my back. Not too sure though. Hurts, _everywhere_."

"Dammit Flynn, you're a stubborn asshole."

"Nothing painkillers can't fix." He joked loud enough for her to hear, then sneered as she huffed an irritated sigh.

"Yes, now all we need is something to bridle that oversized ego of yours. Then we're really on track for success."

Lucy draped a blanket over his quivering form and headed for the door, stopping short just as he lifted his head to glimpse her furious expression.

He jested mockingly. "Oh sucha brutal stake to my heart. Call a doctor."

"Damn straight I am." She said unimpressed, opened the door and left in a haste.

"Always admired your spunk, Lucy." He took in a raspy breath, murmuring as he fell asleep. "And I never will stop caring for you."


	7. Soul Train

**SOUL TRAIN**

The sound of an organ along with the strings of a bass guitar, and the thumping of a bass drum flowed from the speakers of the first-class train compartment. Whilst in the background, the electric guitar teased the tune every so often, hi-hat cymbals making its own bubbly clapping resonance.

"You hear that?" Flynn asked gleefully.

"Yeah, sounds familiar."

"Walks like a Lady by Journey." His chin nodded along with the hi-hat's clapping as his shoe tapped along with the kick drum's deep, knocking beat.

"The 80's still rockin' in 2023?" She narrowed her eyes at him, watching curiously, as a man began to sing.

"Walks like a lady; with her tender charms. She moves like a lady; when I'm in her arms. She loves like a lady; lovin' all night long. She cries like a baby; when she's done something wrong."

Flynn grabbed her hand, pulled to her feet then to his chest and danced along, while the song barely skipped a beat in the backdrop. He sang with, Lucy amused at the silly, spontaneous deed, but followed nonetheless.

"I told you once, yes, I told you twice, but you never listen my advice. I catch you walkin' with that boy again, I'm gonna set you free. Oh, I'm gonna set you free."

He pushed her away only to draw her back towards him and let her twirl underneath his arm before holding her close again. Laughter spilled from her lips, Flynn still singing along whole-heartedly.

"Loves like a lady. So soft and slow. She feels like a lady; Ooo I can't let go. She smiles like a lady; smilin' all night long; but cries like a baby; when she's done something wrong. I told you once, I told you twice, but you never listen my advice. I catch you walkin' with that boy again, I'm gonna set you free. Yeah, I'm gonna set you free."

The music free-flowed then, with each acoustic instrument playing their skilful melody, the electric guitar dominating the song, as if they were entertaining an audience at an old-fashioned jazz club. The dancing duo synchronized with the playful rhythm, bubbling with merriment and wholly entranced by its happy beat. For forty seconds it continued before the singer joined in for the last time.

"Walks like a lady; Oh, but she cries like a little girl; Walks like a lady; but she cries like a little girl; Walks like a lady; Cries like a little girl."

With the song fading out, they shook with a profound chuckle each and collapsed on the lounge chairs opposing one another. Lucy positioned her forearms on the table, unable to soothe the bubbling feeling within. It had been while where either of them could simply enjoy a moment of spontaneity. Without constantly being threatened with death, that was.

She sighed contented, but then laughter started up again as her eyes shifted upward. Crosswise from her, Flynn gazed at the snowy landscape rushing by, trying hard to contain his own joyous emotion. The atmosphere felt lighter, the delight infectious as they soaked in the moment. After a while, he locked eyes with her and grinned softly.

"That was fun."

"Yeah, actually it was. Thank you. I needed to loosen up for a bit."

"Glad I could help."

"So, how does it feel?"

"What? Years of fighting finally over. Do you need an answer?"

"No, but I was referring to our freedom. To enjoying a train ride in peace. You know, having fun like we did a moment ago."

He relaxed in the red-leathered chair and gazed through the window. "Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?"

"It certainly does." Lucy mirrored his sitting position and sighed again. "What are you going to do?"

"Not a damn clue. But it will take a while to come to grips with living a normal life. Not something we're accustomed to."

"Know what you mean."

"And you? What about you?"

"Teaching's in my blood. At the University of my choice."

"Well, you can't go wrong in that department."

Lucy eyed him suspiciously. For the last few minutes, his eyes had lingered on the window, averting her gaze on purpose. The compartment filled with the sound of the train tracks and the melody of a slow beat blues song.

"You're not walking away like you said you would?" She warned more than questioned. "It shouldn't be an option."

"After what I've done, Lucy. There's no redemption. I've got too much spilt blood on my hands."

"Not even after you've turned over a new leaf?"

"Not even then." His eyes met hers coyly. "I'm still stained, incontrollable and way too stubborn. No Agency in their right mind would, or ever will hire me. Even though Denise said she would expunge my record, the damage has been done. My future's tainted, I can't change that either. But you need not worry about me, Lucy." He shrugged a shoulder. "Anyhow, with your personal experience, your history classes will brim with captivated students. Your future will blossom for sure. It's worth the firestorm we endured."

"And suddenly the spontaneous dance concludes on a dire note."

He chuckled at her morbid sarcasm. "Can't hide what's plain as day. It will always be a part of me. It will be a part of everyone."

"Even if the good side one day surpasses the bad side?"

"Even then."

"You're right. All of us were effected, some more than others, by the things we had to do. And even after we destroyed them, we'll always have Rittenhouse in common. It's what you do afterward that defines you. That is if you want it to."

"You always see the best part, Lucy." Flynn looked away. "One of the reasons I'll miss you."

She blushed. "I'll miss you, too."

"I know. And yet somehow I don't want the journey to end."

She nodded, observing the mountains moving by at a leisure pace. "Still, it's an admirable reward. And yes, I agree the ride's way too short."

"Not what I was implying." He gazed to her, eyes grave and intense. Lucy gave him a concerned look, which deepened, as he spoke "_Our_ _journey_ has come to an end. And I spent every waking hour fighting to set you free. And now that you are free, I don't want to let go."

"It is how it is." She looked down at her hands latent on the table.

"Is it? It shouldn't be."

"Flynn."

"I want you to know anyway."

"But I do know, and see it and feel it." Lucy shook her head adamantly. "I don't want to accept it."

"After what he's done to you, you still choose to forgive him?"

"And the kettle is called black."

He sat forward, hand finding hers just as quick. "I receded from my revenge 'cause one person, only one person identified with my hurt and pain and said I didn't have to be ruthless to be a hero. It was you, Lucy. I let go because of you. I joined the team because of you. Endured the distrust and insults to be there for you. Not once was it about what I could do or what I thought we should do. I did it because I care about you."

Tears glistened in her eyes, her emotions feeling every bit of his emotions all throughout the heartfelt confession. She shook her head, placing the fingertips of her free hand to her quivering lips.

"Just wanted you to know." He said barely audible. "Before we go our separate ways."

His hand slid away and the compartment fell into its usual humming atmosphere.

"It's not fair." She said strongly.

"Tell me about it."

"I didn't." Was all she could manage, their section of the train feeling a lot smaller than before.

His fingers curled around hers, squeezing them tenderly in comfort. "Hey, _I_ allowed myself to hope. You did nothing wrong. In fact, you were your sweet salient, resilient self." He shrugged one shoulder nonchalantly. "And no one can control what a person's heart wants or feels. But what you did do was give me a chance to feel again. I only want the same for you."

Flynn tugged at her hand, insisting she look up at him. Once she did so slowly, he gave her a considerate smile. "And if you truly love him, what I feel shouldn't be a problem. I'm not expecting anything either. And screw what you did to save the timeline. I'm letting you know I'm living proof of what you're capable of, Lucy. Change, compassion, care and perseverance about sums it up."

Lucy swiftly retracted her hand from his, showing what she thought of his unmerited conduct. "If it's your way of being kind, it's not working."

"You're absolutely right." Giving her the space she needed, he stood and angled for the door. "I'm going back to my-" He stopped, noticing the hesitation in her posture and scowled, confused by the sudden lure between them. "What do you?"

Lucy halted his question with a raised hand and then used it to beckon him closer. He walked to her, stopping short just within reach and watched how she gestured for him to kneel in front of her. Submitting willingly and somewhat intrigued by the request, he sank down to his right knee, waiting on her to act. Then stilled when she swallowed, gradually shifting her eyes to meet his gentle expression. Her hands slid along his cheeks and their eyes met, Flynn holding a breath as she leaned forward and touched her lips to his.

The noise of the train tracks died out. The rocky landscape blurred on by. The world came to a standstill. They alone existed inside its sphere as he responded in kind.

"I had to know." She whispered as she leaned her forehead against his. He simply nodded, knowing the sad conclusion from the onset. "I could. I really could."

"It's okay." An appreciative grin curved his lips. "I had to know someday."

Lucy pressed another kiss to his lips and coaxed gently before she pulled him into a hug, holding him as if this were their last encounter. He conceded without protest, wrapping his arms around her as if she'd rescued him from fading away.

Minutes later, easing their hold, she felt his thumbs wipe at her tears before he stood and placed a feather-light kiss to her forehead. "Goodbye, my love. I'll be seeing you Christmas Eve 2014."


	8. The Villian Relinquishes

**THE VILLAIN RELINQUISHES**

Like a tight noose, the feeling of absolute sorrow coiled around his heart. The crosshairs shook before his right eye, moist from crying and filled with the image of her paling countenance.

It had to end. The race had to end. This was the only way to break the endless merry-go-round of jumping into history, coming back wounded, and going again to face the same kind of feat. He tried so many times to convince them this was the only way. For as long as she lived, her family would never stop pursuing her, would never stop wanting to end her life for good.

He breathed throw the agony, tilting his head away to calm his body from shaking with remorse, then gazed through the scope of the M1 rifle. A sharp numbing pain lined his throat. He swallowed against the dry sensation. Combed a hand across his face, wiping at the water pooling in his eyes.

The ardent resolve slowly began to fade. He couldn't do it, not after all the suffering they had endured from the onset. Not after the countless times he'd pushed her to join the fight only to lose her to the team. His irrational behaviour hadn't helped either. Instead, his way of imposing the truth caused more fear and hatred. Even after they'd come to terms, he couldn't bare to witness the moments she returned to them and not to him. He was a disease. A plague of death. None dared to touch him or look at him for fear of succumbing to the same fate. Hatred became the hated. Insensitive became the insensible. Garcia Flynn became the beast.

The rifle now dangled from his shoulder as he vanished into the jungle vegetation.

After this failed event, a sane decision to make was to allow the lifeboat to leave with one less individual. They wouldn't miss him. Rather they would thank their lucky stars he no longer planned to see how their effort concluded. Everyone would celebrate, except for her, but he didn't care anymore. They had chosen this life of huddling away in the recesses of a military bunker. Had allowed the confinement to consume every waking hour of every stinking day. He was used to it, but living like this for who knows how long, waiting like birds before a cage door for release. If it wasn't obsession, then it was a complete and utter waste of good, skilled people noble enough to make their own dent in history. To hell with saving it, they had simply sowed too much chaos and ruined so many lives to be labelled as history saving heroes.

He, too, had ruined so many lives, keeping them from having a future they deserved. And had almost terminated the best of them, well, in his opinion she was a precious jewel crafted by the ages. Indeed, she was the best of them.

It was then a good thing he chose the lower ground, let them take the higher ground, and return to what he knew best. Be an asset in the worst of conditions and vanish beneath the quicksand of bureaucracy. He was good at it, too. It was what they had trained him for, wasn't it? It was why walking away seemed so easy, but his heart was breaking with every stride he ran. He'd made a promise and now he considered it premature, null and void and worth burning a bridge or two over. He had the knack for jumping off the bandwagon and following his own stubborn way. Although this time, he'd been a lot more selfish and secretive, and very egotistical, even for him. Yes, also one heck of a liar. When he would rather choose to live with the consequences of laying bare the truth, than being blindsided by the cruel blows lies delivered in retaliation.

Sliding to a halt, he heard the familiar sound of running footsteps slapping against muddy soil. And judging by the intervals in between the strides it was a person of small stature and weight.

A Japanese, perhaps an American soldier had heard his unremittent trudging. Not good news at all. Capture was a big no-no right now. He first had to worm his way into the war before he showed himself as an excellent intelligence officer and a valuable asset. At least here, he could be cruel and ruthless, use his knowledge of this dreadful war to his advantage and save many American lives in the process. It wouldn't make up for the lives he took, but still his contribution would grant numerous men and hopeful women a wonderful future together. He could survive with this ceremonious picture in mind.

* * *

**_TWENTY-FIVE YEARS LATER_**

**1966**

A knock followed by a chime loomed in the reception area after which the butler opened the front door. A petite woman in modern day clothes along with two men and another lady stood waiting in the courtyard. He eyed them dubiously.

"Can I help you?"

"Yes, we're looking for a Mr Garcia Franklin. Does he reside here?"

"But of course my master resides here, however his waning health limits the number of visitors. Meetings which he's had his fill of for today. If you wish to speak to him, tomorrow would best suit his timetable."

Her brow furrowed with concern, scrutinizing the young man with distrust. Wyatt came up alongside her and curtsied his greeting. The butler seemed to perk up with the simple yet respectful gesture and smiled at him. Lucy huffed an irritated sigh.

"Tell him Lucy Logan."

"Preston." Rufus coughed from behind.

Wyatt glared at him over his shoulder before addressing the young man once more. "Yes, Lucy Preston is here to see him. We're old friends."

"Frenemies actually."

"Rufus." Jiya nudged him with her elbow.

"What?" He gave her a dark, playful look. "It's true. Fact; he'll appreciate the reference."

"I'm sure he will."

The butler gave them an onceover, still suspicious of their strange intrusion but nodded. "I will relay the message. If don't mind waiting outside."

"It's perfect." Lucy cut him short. "We don't mind at all. Thank you."

Five minutes later the large double doors opened and the young man grinned delightfully at Lucy. The others smiled at the deed, knowing Flynn had given his permission.

"My master is excited to see you, milady. Your friends I will attend to while you meet with him upstairs."

"Oh wow that's some first-class service for you." Jiya said.

"Is it okay with you?" Lucy asked of the others, especially of her husband Wyatt who gave her a curt nod of agreement.

"Fine by me. Dude's like what, eighty years old. Seriously doubt you're in any kind of danger."

"My master's seventy-one." The young man corrected proudly as he led them deeper into the Macedonian mansion. "And well accomplished."

"No kidding." The soldier murmured.

"How many people did he threaten to get this classy old thing?" Rufus asked.

"Guys, please." Lucy warned. But the stern expression soon altered to awe, as her eyes marked the elegant landscape paintings and delicate antiquities acquired over the years located inside the atrium.

"Please, he's waiting for you." The butler gestured to the extensive wooden staircase spiralling up to the floor above them. "His room is the third one on the right." He faced the others. "Follow me. The terrace has a stunning view of the ocean. And as promised, delicacies of Macedonia's finest will follow in a moment."

"Five-star service?" Rufus smiled gleefully. "Man's got chic, I like it."

Meanwhile, Lucy took the stairs, eyes drifting upward as she admired a taste she never knew the ex-NSA Agent possessed. And in Macedonia of all places. Rembrandt, Leonard da Vinci, Michael Angelo – all the great artists. Their magnificent works climbed the walls alongside her as she finally reached the second floor and stepped straight into the medieval times.

How had Flynn managed to collect this amount of fine art and beauty since the 40's and keep it to himself?

She shoved the thought aside and ambled for the door the young man had pointed out earlier. Her emotions bubbled with anticipation, curiosity, and worry. Not knowing what to expect once she opened the door.

Since he'd vanished during the Pacific War period, they'd scoured books and articles for his picture, hoping he had survived whatever kept him from returning. Three years had gone by before a monochrome photo of him standing before this mansion, along with his will, showed up at the bunker. In the photo, he was older, with silver hair and face weathered, and grinning waywardly. So unlike the man they'd termed as their dangerous and hard-nosed fighter and accomplice. It had been a welcome sight.

Smirking at the terms, the dark wooden floors creaked beneath her soft tread as she entered the sunny room. There he was, with his back slightly tilted towards her, sitting in a snug lazy-boy and lost in a daze. His green eyes sparkling like the ocean outside. She no longer felt the terrible unease as she used to when she looked at him. Now she merely saw an honourable man mellowed with age and couldn't help the threatening tears from rolling down her cheeks.

"I may be an antique, but I'm not deaf. And please, crying over a battle-scarred relic is pointless and downright tragic. Have our constant bickering taught you nothing?"

"See your cheekiness is still one-hundred percent functioning."

Flynn allowed his lips to curl into a slow shrewd smile, ignoring her quick jab as his sluggish fingers beckoned her over. "Come, come my dear, step into the sunlight, and let me admire you from up close."

"Don't mind if I do."

Lucy moved cautiously over to the patio door overlooking the ocean. Its white lace curtains fluttered every so often over his left side, which he didn't seem to mind, as he waited for her to step up alongside him.

Her small hand covered his shoulder and squeezed gently. Flynn closed his eyes, keeping himself from withering away at the touch and enjoyed the moment. He hummed under his breath. Others called it an inconsequential gesture, but to him it meant the world.

Together they silently stared at the glittering scenic view.

"It's been a while." He said softly.

"Three years, yes."

"Hmm, if life went by so fast."

"Time can be cruel."

"You don't say."

Luck stepped into his view, tilting somewhat to gaze at the weathered complexion wrinkling his face. The mark of an old scar moved along his right cheekbone. Another more prominent one ran down his neck to his shoulder. Even so, the blemishes didn't mar the man, even though a grey beard hid most of his jagged features. Rather, it enhanced his appearance.

"The admiration of a young woman does wonders to the soul. See?" He smiled teasingly. His green eyes glimmered with wilfulness. "Got a wicked smile outta the ol' grandpapa."

"Don't flatter yourself, Flynn."

"You look good." He said on a sincere note.

"Not too bad yourself."

"This shabby visage? Don't make me go all rosy cheeks on you, Lucy. My heart doesn't tick like it used to, be careful."

She smiled frankly before grabbing a stool from the balcony and plopped it in front of him, sat down. Next, she graciously took his trembling hands in hers and held it delicately. Flynn, sickly and tired as he was, chuckled amusingly.

"What happened?"

His face turned crestfallen with the question. "I made a selfish decision to stay behind and make a different impact on history. Perhaps you've heard of me. A notorious and roguishly handsome spy, and ultimately the most hated intelligence officer so far. As the Germans like to call me, Der Unsichtbare."

"You're the Invisible One?" Lucy sat back in disbelief. "The spy who had no name and face. That was you?"

"One in the same." He smiled proudly.

"He's legendary. I mean; _you_ _are_ legendary. You saved so many soldiers in the wars since the 40's and have credit in some of the best spy thriller novels to date. Even Wyatt and Agent Christopher can't stop drooling over the spy who fronted clandestine warfare as we know it."

Smirking lazily, he closed his eyes and gave her a nearly noticeable nod. "Hmm, almost makes living in the past worth it."

"Don't be such a cynic, Flynn. You certainly made your contribution to history."

"It isn't as thrilling as the books make it out to be. And at times, I find myself regretting every moment of it." His eyes shimmered with tears. "I left to start over in another era. I instead chose to contribute in an area of expertise I thrived in, where America could truly benefit from my skills as intelligence expert. And really because I wanted to spare myself the shame of looking at someone whose life I'd tried to terminate time and again. For all the good I did, it doesn't come close to my time as a rogue NSA Agent skipping through time."

Suddenly breathing became harder, the weight of the cropped up confession draining the little willpower left to stay awake. His heart fought to keep up. Out of pity, Lucy kissed his knuckles and laid his hands on his lap. He leaned his head back against the cushion tucked in behind him. A sign he was desperately struggling to muster energy to continue their conversation.

"Now you're really being an old cynic, Garcia." She stood and kissed his forehead. "Just so you know. Der Unsichtbare's one of the reasons Rittenhouse is no longer a threat. Plus, this is merely a courtesy call. A reunion, as it were, in the past to reminisce the present."

"Good."

"And if you don't mind, we'll be joining you for a couple of days. Your other visitors would simply have to wait."

"I don't mind."

"Besides, you have to give me a tour of this gorgeous mansion you left me. And we did travel fifty-five years into the past to say thank you for the team's sweet retirement gift. I hate for you to miss the surprise on their faces when they hear what you did."

"Cheeky minx."

"No, just an admirer showing her appreciation."

At her sarcasm , Flynn smiled up at her. "Just a person who willingly gave me a second chance, as well as the perfect farewell gift. Thank you for coming."

"No problem. Only did what you asked." She bent down, gently combing her hand through his silver hair and kissed him on the crown of his head. "Sweet dreams, Garcia."

"Sweet dreams, Lucy."


	9. Recant (part 1)

**RECANT (PART 1)**

One after the other, streetlights illuminated the animated street, nearby parked vehicles and joyous jazz musicians. Tourists casually walking to and fro in the flickering strobe lights of cafés as they met their friends for a crazy night about town.

Garcia weaved through the tightknit masses and headed in a westerly direction for his own private gathering.

Once the desired building came in to view, an uncomfortable feeling stirred within.

He gawked at its New Orleans architecture revealing years of standing and defending the ground it was built upon. And showed clear signs of weathering the blazing sun, pouring rain and lastly its dynamic yet shady occupants.

Walking along this three-story building, he halted by a dilapidated dumpster. Its smell left a bitter taste in his mouth, but what came next held nothing to its reeking disgust. He stepped forward, carefully and slowly, not to draw too much attention to his sleek physique and secretive presence.

Two aloof bouncers guarding a corroded door turned to face him, warily reaching for their holstered pistols. Calm and collected, Flynn showed his hands in submission, gave them a lopsided smile before mentioning something under his breath.

The bigger of the two merely raised a questioning eyebrow. However, the much shorter bouncer moved into a side stance, opening a gap for Flynn who walked forward baring a sly smile. With a curt nod, he opened the door to a softly lit hallway which stopped short before a vintage spiralling staircase.

Midway in, two crooked doors with green paint peeling from their surfaces faced one another. Which according to the invite, he was to take the one on the left. In reach, he gazed about the filthy, stuffy passage, turned the knob, and shoved the door open with his shoulder. An empty room gradually came into view and he stepped inside. Scanning its decaying interior, he found the trap door hidden beneath a soot-covered chest. This he pushed aside, pulled at the door, and took the wooden staircase down into the depths below.

"Welcome gentlemen to the fight of the century. Tonight you are here not only for your unique, brutal nature. But also for your determination to succeed in pleasing my master and ultimate ruler of the underground network."

The sharp-pitched voice of the announcer echoed about the area, penetrating through a dozen or so men. A buzzing silence soon settled over the spectators.

The sharp scent of cigarette smoke mixed with diverse colognes drifted in the air along with strong alcohol which made its rounds amidst the tables.

Garcia scanned the basement, taking in the form and fitness of the throngs of men gathered in small groups spread out across the area. Overhead, several naked light bulbs swayed back and forth, illuminating the hardened faces of eager warriors in an amber-lit glow. Even so, his eyes came to rest on the well-built, average height gent drawing the attention of the assembled mercenaries and soldiers. A sinister atmosphere accompanied him, his hazel eyes reflecting something deeper than just being merciless and addicted.

Flynn had to prove his worth to this man. A hacker who loved toying around with innocent civilians, and whose underhanded work attracted all sorts of bloodthirsty tyrants. And whether it happened via technology or through these impromptu fight clubs, he had a desperate need for sowing carnage.

At the thought, a familiar feeling of exhilaration flooded his system. The same kind of feeling his time-hopping days elicited as he chased down, discovered, and murdered Rittenhouse members. Even worse was the thrill of knowing every mission could always end up being his last. But thankfully something called regard never ceased to bring him back to reality. Never stopped reminding him why he did it and for whom he did it.

Garcia swallowed hard; reluctant to believe he still wanted to follow through with this crazy ploy. His gaze settled on the scrawny announcer with shaved head, multiple piercings and tattoos, and listened carefully.

"Each of your names has been placed in a box, which will be drawn at random. The winner of each fight will have its place on the board behind me. This means winner will be pinned against winner, and so we'll continue until the last man is left standing. Knock Out determines the outcome. That's when the competitor steps out of the designated area or the allotted time runs out, which is three minutes. When the timer reaches zero and the fighters have yet to settle, the host will choose the favourite of the two. You will by no means kill your opponent. Otherwise, you'll be shot on sight."

It sounded straightforward and clean – beat your opponent to advance to the next round. Nevertheless, men privy to adrenaline-laced sports didn't promote clean fights without changing the rules. There had to be a catch somewhere.

"Furthermore, the host has the pleasure of selecting at random whether your opponent should be knocked out, thrown out of the designated area or endure the three minutes."

Hasty and displeased voices erupted as they shouted their diverse opinions. Some were baffled; others simply couldn't wait for the fights to commence. Garcia, on the other hand, appeared unfazed, rather focussed upon the objective ahead. It was either get in or get out, and the latter was no option. For the moment, he had to be a man without feeling, without heart. Had to channel the time-traveling persona. The ruthless assassin who shot Lincoln. The man who brokered a deal with the Nazi's. No longer a fighter for peace but callous and malicious. Precisely the Garcia Flynn everyone on the team knew and despised.

His eyes darted to the commotion imploding before him.

It seemed the first match was about to begin between a soldier and a former bodyguard of an important dignitary. But before long, the fight concluded with the bodyguard throwing his opponent off the mat.

Twenty minutes of tedious fighting later, four men were left standing, Flynn being one of them. The semi-finals were to be a knockout round with no time limitations or any other restrictions. This was a good thing, as it meant he had more time to earn the hacker's trust, and actually have the opportunity to show off his skills properly.

Standing at the edge of the sparring mat, he felt underneath his skin the lingering bumps and bruises from the previous seven rounds. Some of which most certainly would protest the following day. He winced at the uncomfortable feeling and breathed through it evenly. Closed his eyes to quash the deep chanting uproar and doubtful thoughts in his mind, then joined his opponent on the sparring mat.

At first glance, the kid was a short, brawny street fighter and a dirty one from what Flynn had seen during the earlier rounds. All the same, he had the height, elusive tactics and brains, whereas the kid had speed and agility.

Within seconds, the fight was underway, each man observing the other meticulously, as they circled the soft sparring surface. Flynn teased with a fake frontal kick, followed by a right elbow aimed at his opponent's jaw. The street fighter blocked the attack, countering with a side kick to the stomach. Flynn felt the dull impact as breath escaped his lips. Now side-by-side, he used his right foot to propel the fighter's left knee down to the floor. It loosened the grip around his right arm, and rammed his left fist against the fighter's exposed back, sending him down to his hands and knees.

Ovations resounded in the vicinity.

Flynn retreated to his previous position, spreading his legs to shoulder width, whilst extending his right fist and foot before the left. Across from him, the street fighter slowly rose to his full height and swiftly mirrored his stance.

Both smirked arrogantly at each other.

Garcia stepped forward, offered a right fist then a left and then another right. All blows which the kid countered flawlessly before he grabbed hold of Flynn's right arm, whacked the side of his head, punched him in the side, then gave a final blow to his head. But Flynn wriggled from the hold, grabbed him by the neck and forced his forehead down against his oncoming knee. Shoved him away by the throat, whilst delivering a knocking blow to the head, hand still tightly wound around his throat. The kid countered with an uppercut to the gullet, Flynn staggering back breathless, marking the kid jump up with a knee aimed at his chin. It connected in a thwack, swung him around, held him by the collar and jabbed two tactical blows to his kidneys.

Suddenly anxious, Flynn shoved back with his right elbow that hit the kid square in the bicep, then followed it up with another strong elbow shot to his jaw. The thrust of it sent the kid stumbling for the edge of the mat. Though he recovered quick enough to block the oncoming fist and responded with a dangerous kick aimed for his shoulder. Flynn blocked it with both arms allowing the momentum to push him away from a follow up kick.

"All right, gents, that's enough! Simmer down!"

The two men along with the rest of the group faced the man who had broken the intense match. With their interests piqued, the hacker continued, "I've seen enough." Next, he sought out Flynn's attention, who was still staring down his opponent.

Something about the tall, dark character revealed both deceitfulness and loyalty. Just what he wanted, needed and there was no reason to see how this fight ended. Flynn was the fighter, the champion worthy enough to join his masquerading organization.

The scrawny announcer faced the hacker and glared perplexed. They had guaranteed a fair fight; now his boss stopped one that was yet to speed up. He walked over to his high-seated position and stepped up onto the platform, stooping beside him to whisper in his ear.

"What are you doing?"

The latter tilted his head to stare disapprovingly at him.

"From here on out your rules don't abide, you know that."

"I want him, Tim. He's the perfect candidate."

"Which one?"

"The one staring down his opponent. Look at the intensity in his eyes. There's determination, deceit, devotion. This is no game to him. He wants it badly."

"All good sir, but we're not done yet. Remember, you promised these men a winner."

"I've seen more than enough fights. Know what will bring in the money. And he clears all my specs. Besides, it doesn't matter. No one will be around to see the result."

Timothy gulped as soon as he heard the last sentence. He'd known the outcome of this proving ground since the beginning. He just didn't expect his boss' voice to sound so playfully unconcerned.

"You, my man. . ." The hacker gestured in Flynn's direction. "You got the job."


	10. Recant (part 2)

**RECANT (Part 2)**

"Where the hell did Flynn disappear to?" Wyatt shouted from the kitchen.

"There was this really badass hacker he wanted to check out."

"What?" Lucy exclaimed as she joined Rufus at the computer's workstation.

"Yup, said he couldn't sit around and wait any longer. Don't blame him. Seriously wanted to join him, if it weren't for, you know?"

She scowled in confusion.

The geek ignored her. "Anyway, with Rittenhouse having both the lifeboat and mothership." He swallowed the aching knot in his throat. "And Jiya still missing. He said we needed all the help we could get."

"By leaving the bunker? Without backup?"

"Sounds about right."

"And who would want to back up the dude anyway?" Wyatt asked dryly as he stood beside Lucy.

"I would." Agent Christopher announced as she halted next to Rufus.

He kept his gaze on the screens, scanning whatever data his tired mind could in fact process. "What do you want?" He questioned gruff and to the point.

"I got this from Homeland this morning."

With a sad countenance, Denise handed over the flash-drive. Rufus snatched it from her hand, managing half a smile in thanks. She ignored his foul mood and proceeded to inform him as they scanned the files.

"It contains the latest information concerning our beloved hacker. Unfortunately, no specifics as to their current whereabouts, but what they left behind so far, have the top dogs in a threatening mood."

"Meaning?" Before the Agent could reply, Rufus answered his own question. "Oh, that's not good. I thought killing your opponent was strictly forbidden. I can understand why they're in a frenzy."

Denise nodded. "The invitation had been clear about the rules. Why leave dead bodies behind? Anything for that matter."

Lucy and Wyatt watched with disbelief, while the other two continued checking the info as if they had informed them about Flynn's mission ages ago.

"Whoa, what invitation?" She asked a tad frustrated.

"No way." Wyatt threw his hands up in annoyance. "Unbelievable, he infiltrated a fighting club. As in _the_ Fight Club? The Brad Pitt and Edward Norton kind?"

"What does the preliminary report say was the cause?" Denise asked. "Was it due to brutal force?"

"You suspect it to be something else don't you, Agent Christopher?" Rufus asked dubiously.

"I do. The invitation dripped with pure intentions. The perfect bait for soldiers, mercenaries, and former bodyguards."

"Mercenaries?" Lucy repeated more worried than she was irked. "And bodyguards? What did you guys get him in to now?"

"Wait, you said soldiers. Why didn't you send me? I would've been perfect."

"With all due respect, Wyatt. You're still on active duty. Flynn's not. And he's more-"

"Don't say it." Wyatt warned with a pointing finger.

"More psychopath than civil and refined?" Rufus crooned drolly.

"I think I've seen this style before. When the time came to appoint a new chieftan, skilled warriors took part in tribal fights to prove themselves worthy competitors. When the winner was crowned, the rest were banished to prevent them from challenging either the denounced chief or newly elected one. But the methods differed with each tribe. Also, their location in the world had part in the decision making, too. In some tribes, only a single, strong warrior challenged another warrior 'till death. But like I said, it's changed quite considerably over the ages."

"That's harsh, don't you think?"

Lucy gazed between the others. "Guess in this instance, they silenced the witnesses."

"And I presume no traces were found – a cruel yet classic tell-tale of a hacker. But Flynn should be okay. Right? He's a tough son of a gun."

Rufus gazed at the Agent who remained remarkably quiet, making his question more dramatic than intended. And her not making eye contact with either of them, fuelled everyone's worst suspicions.

"Don't tell me we just sent one of our top men into a death trap? Dammit, Agent Christopher. It was one of our best chances of getting her back!"

"Rufus." Lucy calmed from the side.

"Flynn is one tough SOB." Wyatt reassured. "We know he is."

"It's one of the reasons I'm here, Rufus." Those words hit the geek like fiery darts. Even so, Denise continued. "It looks like they disabled his tracker round about the same time as the recorded deaths. Homeland's in the process of seizing the crime scene. However, as of yet, we only have the preliminary report to go by. This is where you come in, Rufus. Homeland will have satellite time in about two minutes' time. The time you'll have to examine the building the fight was held at and . . ."

". . . and track their movements afterwards."

"Yes however, our time is limited and the hacker has a history of covering his tracks, especially when it comes to this type of mass murder. There's no telling what he has done or may do."

"I can handle it." His words came out rushed and barely audible.

They couldn't lose Flynn. He was the only one who had sympathized; who truly knew what he was going through. Sure, there'd been a deep hatred for the man at the beginning. And yet now, he didn't seem to mind the extra muscle and creepy uncle vibe as support in the field. They needed his backing and expertise for when they were to rescue Jiya. It was the main reason why Flynn had suggested they infiltrate the hacker's underground network. And force him to help track down Rittenhouse. It was their last chance of nipping this in the bud, and now they had strong evidence saying Flynn was dead.

"They will connect you with the satellite in less than two minutes. Are you ready?"

Lucy gazed at Rufus who appeared visibly distracted. "You ready?"

He said nothing, nor did his head lift to look at her. This reaction bothered them.

"C'mon Rufus, say you're ready." Wyatt urged from behind.

"Do we have a problem?" Denise asked, seemingly confused with his lack of interest. "We won't have this opportunity for another twenty four hours. If you don't do this . . ."

Midway through her sentence, Rufus nodded, signalling he was ready to proceed. Lucy replied in his stead. "Yeah, he's good to go."

She held the burner phone for all to hear as the man on the other side announced. "You'll have access in three, two, and one."

Lucy visualized a runner pushing off the starting blocks, as the geek's fingers began typing on the keyboard. Next came the sound of a hundred soldiers marching together, as the keys protested against the force applied.

"Look at the screens." He instructed.

As one, the group gazed between the multiple screens in front of the geek while footage of yesterday streamed unto it. The intended building faded into frame, and then sped up to the time stamp of Flynn's arrival. Rufus paused it and zoomed in on him and the two bouncers conversing in front of the side entrance. Next, he punched in a code which displayed a wider frame of the whole building from the roof down to the street. Heat signatures appeared, revealing the positions of all the occupants. A dozen and more displayed on the screen far beneath the ground level.

The footage sped up once more until the time stamp revealed an hour had passed. Afterward its speed returned to normal, suddenly stopping when all the heat signatures vanished. All except for three, who met up with the two bouncers at the side entrance. With the heat sensors now deactivated, and the frame positioned on the side entrance's location, the group watched in anticipation for Flynn's appearance. But then without warning the footage distorted as grey and white speckles streamed onto the screen.

Frantically, Rufus tried to counteract what was causing the disturbance, whilst the others watched in anticipation, internally routing for his success.

"It's being hacked from an unknown source. Probably our hacker friend covering up his tracks like you assumed he would."

"Can you stop him?" Denise asked curtly. "Better yet, trace him?"

"I'm not sure, there's a limited time frame."

Without warning, the building came in to frame, but with no one in sight. Angered by the result, Rufus slammed his fists against the table in such a force the others jolted, surprised by the behaviour.

"Okay, Rufus. I get that we didn't find any proof. Doesn't mean he's dead. He's a hard asshole to get hold of."

"What happened with the feed?"

"He hacked it. He bloody well hacked the feed. Don't you see? The distortion acted like a smokescreen. A unique way of saying, 'screw you. You don't need to see me. Don't need anyone to see how I killed dozens of civilians.'"

"He can do that?"

"Apparently he just did." Lucy answered Wyatt's question.

"Can you fix it?" Denise requested as she watched Rufus sit down and stare dejectedly at the screens. "Anything to help with this is critical."

He shrugged half-heartedly. "I managed to download the footage from Flynn's time of entrance 'till after the distortion. And if I'm correct, the hacker masked the footage. And we all know that a disguise has something or someone hiding underneath it. I just need to find the cypher."

Wyatt's lips curled into a crafty smile. "When you decrypt it, not only will we know if Flynn's still alive, we'll be seen as worthy contenders." He faced the Agent standing beside him. "Oh and Agent Christopher, I'll be more than happy to sit this one in."

"Damn right you will." Rufus declared sternly. "This guy seriously messed with the wrong team."


	11. Recant (part 3)

**RECANT (Part 3)**

_A WEEK LATER_

From his viewpoint, Flynn was in bad shape, really bad shape. Even for a man who'd made life a living hell. And after seeing what seven long days of continuous fighting did to the spy, he didn't blame him either. Flynn could barely keep himself upright, which he knew was due to numerous counts of body blows. While in his blazing eyes, he noted the familiar signs of drugs coursing through his system. Something they'd administered against his will most likely. So yes, Garcia Flynn was in a bad state.

Even so, Wyatt shook his hands, then the rest of his limbs, loosening them to get the blood flowing. With breathing even and relaxed, he stepped onto the mat. Suddenly, Flynn sprinted towards him, leapt up, and came down with a blow intended for his jaw. In a jiff, he sidestepped the tall figure, barely blocking the man's sneaky left hook.

Wyatt retreated to the corner, spreading his legs to shoulder width, and placed a right fist and foot before the left, shrugging coolly at the hasty opening. So perhaps he underestimated Flynn's fitness and well-being, for he showed no signs of backing down, and neither did the crowd in cheering for his teammate. He huffed a sigh. Despite being seriously hurt, the man was still a raging beast.

"Guy's got a flawless winning streak." A former special ops soldier said at the start of the fights.

And now after six rounds both he and Flynn were the only two fighters left standing, exactly what Agent Christopher had asked of him.

Garcia moved then, light-footed and quick, coming in with a classic uppercut, which he avoided by stepping back. But the man quickly followed up with a right elbow to the chest. Losing his balance fleetingly, Wyatt recovered swift enough to block the oncoming left hook, and pushed him away with a foot to the stomach. Next, went after him, kicking at the side of his right knee. The spy countered it with his left foot before aiming for Wyatt's chest, who sidestepped the return strike and backed away.

Satisfied, both respited and moved to opposing corners.

Thus far, they were evenly matched in their attacks, and yet according to the hacker and his announcer, the men teased one another. Likewise, it was clear the soldier sought to leave their best fighter intact; would then also forfeit the match willingly. Whereas the taller man gave the impression they craved for, no matter the cost of his dwindling physicality. He was in it to win it. And the longer he continued to excel, the more the money would come pouring in. Still, they didn't appreciate Wyatt's lack of effort. No doubt, he was the healthier, fresher of the two, and the fighter knew it and acted as such.

He simply chose to play it down for some unusual reason, faring well to play on the hacker's nerves, too.

Suddenly the crowd died down to curious whispers.

The men came forward, meeting in the middle, but stayed out of reach. In the backdrop, they heard the hacker slamming his fists against his sparkling throne in anger. He wanted results not dancing warriors.

Wyatt smirked at the irony and commanded of Flynn. "Hey man, do me a favour. Withdraw already."

"What?"

"With. Draw." The soldier drew-out on purpose.

"I heard you the first time, Delta." Sudden fear lit up in Garcia's eyes. "Just, where's the backup dancers?"

"They're guarding Dynamite, what else."

He relaxed, now aware and certain that Lucy and Rufus were well out of reach. Though the drugs in his system elicited a visible tremor and tensed his form extensively. Wyatt flinched somewhat, disliking the idea of Speed coursing through the spy's body. And to make things worse, it was wearing off. Overlooking it, he circled to the left, keeping his eyes locked on Flynn's restless fists.

"So it's just us two grunts then?" The spy asked unsteadily.

"Hey! I would appreciate a little less chatting." The hacker demanded above the now chanting crowd. "And a little more fighting!"

"Whatever floats your boat crazy bastard." Wyatt motioned at his teammate and warned deadpan. "Just, don't go for my right hamstring. Okay?"

"Yeah? Well, my back's killing me."

The soldier stood up straight, expression serious as he did so and asked innocently. "You won't go for my shoulder, right?"

Concerned, Flynn stopped their circling. "Which one?"

"Left."

"Sure. As long as you don't aim for my knee again, we're good."

"So it really leaves us with anything from the waist up." Wyatt joked.

"Guess so."

"Fine by me."

The gathered warriors roared as one, urging the fighters to resume the match.

Feeling ever bit of his waning strength, Flynn jettisoned the corner of the mat, and descended upon his teammate with a quick left jab and right hook. Avoiding both strikes, Wyatt responded with a foot to Flynn's chest, shadowed by a swift roundabout kick skimming by the man's jaw. While during the evasion, he went after Wyatt's vulnerable leg, sweeping him off his feet. Though in no time, he was up again, jolting for Flynn and knocked him square against the chest. The blow tilted his body sideways and down to his left knee, opening up a gap for Wyatt to grab him around the neck with both hands. Slowly, he bent down, pulling him closer to whisper in his ear.

"Agent Christopher sends her regards. Now be a good boy and lie down."

Wyatt sensed how Flynn relaxed against his grip and heard a half-hearted snicker. Swallowing hard, he stepped away, lifting a foot to the weary man's shoulder, and rammed with intent.

The throngs of men went deadly silent as a loud, sheer smack resonated in the vicinity. Their giant was down for the count and a new but confused warrior towered over him.

Retreating, Wyatt gaped at the scene, then cursed under his breath. On his back and writhing somewhat, Flynn's lips were soaked with blood, showing his body had been struggling with multiple internal bleeding all along. He cursed again.

An unexpected boisterous commotion to the back drew everyone's notice. Men scattered in a frenzy. Flash bangs and smoke grenades glided through the air as Homeland's response team filtered into the warehouse in a heated rush. On cue, Wyatt turned on his heels, sprinted for the hacker, taking him and the chair down in one full swoop. Wood splintered around them as they crashed to the floor, the soldier placing the hacker in a proper hold and flicked a small detonator from his hand. It skidded over the floor, stopping within reach of the cowering announcer, who looked on in fear as Wyatt secured it and shouted out commands.

"Our informant needs medical attention now. And please do take care of this smuck."

"You won't get away with this." The hacker threatened once they boosted him to his feet.

"I got your stupid ass device." He waved it at him arrogantly. "No more poisoning the well like you did before."

"There's a safeguard in place." He offered weakly.

"I don't give a crap. You're done for Oscar Jovanni."

The man stared in astonishment before writhing against the tight hold the two men had on him. Even so, they hauled him away, Wyatt following closely behind as Oscar growled at him.

"You're dead, dude. I swear you're dead. I've seen your face. There's nowhere you can hide. My investors will find ya. I'll find ya! I swear I will."

"But we found you, didn't we. I don't think they'll like how easy it was, Jovanni. With their investments gone." Wyatt smirked, snapping his fingers together. "Just like that. You're in deep shit, kid. And what you did to Flynn just dug the hole deeper. Be glad I didn't do to you what you did to him. But the crazy thing is. I don't like him too much, so I'll let you scathe today. That's unless."

The hacker stopped the advance, jerking towards him in anticipation. "Unless I do what?"

"Do a hacking job for us, no questions asked. And just to be nice, I'll even sweet talk a deal for you. Like I said, the guy's a pain in the ass."

The DHS Agents tugged him forward once more, Wyatt smiling roguishly as the hacker considered the options.

"All right, I'll do it."

"You hear that boys?" Wyatt cheered happily. "We got ourselves a fish. Flipping fantastic."

* * *

_A MONTH LATER_

The long-awaited hope of his daughter and wife holding him close flooded his dreams. Instinctively, his arms curled around them pulling them tighter to his chest, gladly relishing their wholesome acceptance and precious adoration for him. But then a swift thought pierced the blissful occasion, and he woke with a startle.

Garcia Flynn blinked a few times before noticing the black snouts of a life-sized, stuffed creamy fox and a crimson hound staring up at him.

An irritated groan reverberated in his chest, finding the joke cruel, petty and a tad thoughtful. The stuffed animals were nothing like the endearing hug of his girls. Instead, it portrayed every bit of his sad life since he'd lost them. He groaned for a second time.

"I swear Wyatt's dead."

"It's Rufus actually."

"Now I'm really gonna kill him."

Jiya giggled at the jest and watched shyly as he struggled to sit upright in bed.

Even a month after the fights, his body struggled to acclimatize to being whole again. She grimaced, knowing how beaten up and ragged he was when she'd returned from her own hell a week after. The drugs had just left his system and his physical condition had left him looking like a mangled scarecrow. It was a horrible sight. And it terrified her to know how far the team had gone to get her back. But once she heard he volunteered willingly, to get the help required, she felt guilty. Which she later realized was false and unnecessary. Anyone in the team would've done the same thing for the other, and yes, it included Garcia Flynn as well.

He snarled as he caught her looking. "What?"

"Thank you." She whispered kindly.

"It's what the creepy uncle's for."

"I think you take it way too seriously. You could've died. And then what?"

"For starters, the lifeboat would be cosier. The bunker would be less livelier, but hey." Irked, Flynn tossed the stuffed animals out his room. "The hound's dead. Long live the queen. So why the sad face milady?"

"You're right. You're almost healed. I've recovered. And thanks to our deal with the sleazeball Jovanni, Rittenhouse is deeper underground squirrelling for resources. But hey, we got the lifeboat back. No place like home. Yay."

"_Yeah_." Flynn replied impassive. "So why the sad face?"

"You went through all that effort for someone you don't even like."

"Listen, whatever you may think." He placed his legs over the side of the bed, cursing the lethargy in his muscles and then looked to her. "It just so happened to be a two for one deal and let's look at it this way. No lifeboat – no stopping Rittenhouse. No Jiya – crappy bunker. Besides, there were too many Flynn's moping around. I had to do something."

"I agree one is more than enough thank you." She teased whilst vacating her seat.

"Now don't be so harsh. I am an acquired taste of course. It's not fair when everyone else is just as . . . vulgar. There would be no fun to be had on my part."

She chuckled, helping him get to a comfortable standing position and then stepped away. He thanked her with a curt wave and shuffled for the door.

"Oh yeah by the way." Flynn glanced over his shoulder. "Watching me sleep."

A wry smile curled his lips as he walked ahead and kicked at the smiling hound and sly fox discarded in the passage.

"Jeez, and you call me the creepy uncle. Get a life woman. And get this crap you call a joke outta my sight before I let loose the real hounds of war."


	12. The Forgotten

**THE FORGOTTEN**

Men, women and children screamed in fear, scattering for safety as multiple shots rang out in the market square. Along with the disorientated crowd, Rufus and Wyatt found cover behind a cab, but not Lucy who pushed through the wave of colourful, fleeing sunhats.

Garcia Flynn sensed it then. Something didn't feel right, though at the same time, it seemed familiar. As if this was life, and he needed to survive whatever firestorm shadowed his retreating footsteps. Strangely curious, he glanced over his shoulder, scanning the messy backdrop to see what his gut feeling warned him about, and then met her eyes. His breath caught in his throat. She was his target, wasn't she? But then why was Lucy following him? He'd just caused a stampede to cover his retreating figure, and yet she showed no signs of stopping, and neither did her flanking bodyguards. Instead, together they shouted for him to stop, Lucy's petrified voice echoing high above the screams of terrified tourists.

His mind warped, instincts kicked in and he sprinted ahead, veering down an alleyway. Up ahead a staircase appeared, extending down to an open archway exiting unto a busy street. Desperate, he quickened his pace and leapt into the air, landing softly on the balls of his feet on a platform ten steps down. And continued leaping from platform to platform, until at the bottom the momentum nudged him into a shoulder roll. Running once more, he came to a sudden halt as vendors shouted prices at a river of eager tourists gazing about the diverse goods on display.

Garcia's eyes combed over the throngs and spotted a potential exit left up the street, and pushed through the thick crowd.

Wyatt caught him from behind, hurling them against a group of men before finally hitting the cobblestone street. Spontaneously, the dazed crowd formed a circle around the wrestling opponents. Watching with keen interest as the tall man broke free from the burly athlete who received a kick to the abdomen for the effort. A winded struggle followed, Wyatt fighting for breath, while to his dismay, Flynn pushed through the crowd and escaped down another alley. Even so, the spectators dragged him to his feet and shoved him after the man, cheering him on as he waved his thanks and sprinted away.

Meanwhile, halfway down the side street, Garcia skidded to a stop, facing the direction of the pursuing footsteps. He watched the soldier scowl before using the wall to launch himself into the air and received a fist to the jaw. The strength of the blow sent him down to one knee, his back turned to Wyatt who barely noticed the devious smile curling his lips. Swiftly, he took a fist full of sand and hurled it at the soldier. Its mantle carefully masked his incoming kick that aimed high and dangerous. Wyatt avoided the crafty strike just in time to duck down into a low kick meant for Flynn's left knee, and disabled him for an instant.

Shaky laughter echoed about them, Garcia observing how Wyatt moved into a defensive stance, taunting him to attack. Limping a few steps back, he mirrored the man's cocky stance, and smiled waywardly. No doubt, his opponent seemed determined, and yet he marked a hint of distraction. Again, the peculiar feeling of something being wrong peaked and it intruded upon his focus. The soldier did not intend to hurt him, and it sent the confusion to soaring heights.

Then again, since when did a soldier operate according to emotion? And since when did he not act upon impulse?

"Flynn don't." Wyatt warned once he noticed the resolve in his eyes. "Don't do it."

Garcia closed the gap in a haste, coming in with a left kick aimed at his jaw. This he stopped with the palm of his right hand. A fist followed which he blocked with his left hand. Soon after, a foot directed for his abdomen which he countered with both hands, and responded with a backhand to Flynn's cheek. The movement sent him staggering away, but Wyatt pushed off against the wall, came in with a high dismantling blow, forcing him down to one knee and placed his gun against Flynn's forehead.

"Wyatt don't!" Lucy shouted from behind. "He can't remember."

"No shit."

Garcia's brow furrowed before he went after the pistol, but Rufus hit him from behind forcing him down onto his stomach.

"Damn, even with memory loss, the guy's persistent."

"Yeah, no shit." Wyatt replied annoyed. "And for everyone's safety, just pat him down properly. Better be safe than sorry, knowing what he can do when his armed."

"Don't remind me. I have the evidence to show for it."

"Oh yes, don't we all." Flynn laughed as Rufus searched his person.

"This may sound strange." The geek retrieved the nine-millimetre from where it dangled beneath his arm, then went after his ankle holster. "I preferred it when you weren't trying to kill us."

Flynn scowled, bemused by their relaxed behaviour, and jested. "Aw, why the sudden change of heart?"

"You're asking us? Damn, he's really lost it."

"Well, the blow to his head definitely didn't scramble his arrogance."

"Should've hit harder." Rufus mumbled.

"Guys, just get him up please." Lucy pleaded as she approached them.

"Yeah, how hostile of us; not to be more courteous to a guy who still wants to kill us."

"Didn't try hard enough apparently." Flynn scoffed.

"Okay you know what." Rufus shoved him against the wall. "Why don't we leave him here?"

"Good idea. I'll even give you a head start."

"Flynn."

His gaze snapped to Lucy who glared disapprovingly at her guardians. She canted her head, instructing them to step aside. Not a wise choice being so careless, but he appreciated the action nonetheless. They retreated each to a side and watched from a distance while Lucy slowly stepped up to him.

"Is this the part where you tell me you've finally caught the monster?"

"You're not a monster."

The words echoed in his mind along with a sudden image of her donning a sky blue dress from the year 1954.

"You're a man who only remembers how broken and alone he is. You've forgotten all the good we've done."

"Don't pretend you know me. You don't know who I am."

"I do." Lucy gestured at the other men. "We all do, Garcia."

He chuckled at the absurdity. "How reassuring."

"Talking's not working." Rufus advised from the left.

"You have anything better?" Wyatt asked from her right.

"Just like old times, hey Lucy?" Flynn mocked. "You can't keep me from killing you. Just like you can't persuade me working together is a charming notion. And haven't we decided this already? Next time we see each other it's killed or be killed. Or did I miss something vital? Like having amnesia perhaps. It's a desperate clutch at a an even smaller straw. It's not a very good plan you've got going here, guys. Shame on you."

"I vote we knock him out cold, and drag him back to the bunker. There you can squabble to your heart's content."

Lucy sighed irritated, then noticed the vacant look on Garcia's face. Confusion flitted after, as a memory of him smiling up at her occurred. She'd just finished the cup of tea he made for her and left the room sharing his pleased smile. He blinked it away and held her gaze with a smug countenance. But she already noticed the minute variation in his demeanour.

"Are you okay? What did you remember?"

He frowned again, disliking the way she handled his presence so casually and considerately. Normally he terrified her, though today she seemed familiar with his darker side, even endured it for some peculiar reason, and appeared genuinely concerned. Except for their usual hostility, the men didn't seem bothered by him either. They tolerated him because of her, and somehow he liked how much influence she had over them. Both luring him and scaring him simultaneously, it confused the nature of his intentions.

"Okay, what the hell did you do to me?"

"You should ask what we didn't do." Rufus rectified.

Flynn growled, charging for Lucy but her lack of response caught him by surprise. He stopped abruptly, checking to see what his advance had done and glared perplexed. Wyatt merely moved into a defensive stance, with pistol poised. And Rufus shook his head, visibly exasperated by the action. They trusted her with him without waver. It confused him even more.

So what if his mind showed signs of relapse, didn't mean the objective had changed, but according to how they treated him, it had. Rather, they tried their best to accommodate him, to help him understand he wasn't the enemy. That he was someone who worked with them, helping them to take down Rittenhouse.

He held his head in frustration as more recent memories of their time together surfaced.

"A sleeper agent left you dying in the river. Rufus and Wyatt fished you out. Hours later, last night to be precise, you attacked us and fled. We've been chasing you ever since."

"Where are we?"

"Split, Croatia."

Recognition flashed in his eyes as he sought her eyes for the truth. "What? What year?"

"1973."

"Target?" He asked, for the sake of confirming what he already assumed.

"You." Rufus replied.

"I wasn't born until 1975."

"They were after your parents, you idiot."

He snarled at Wyatt. "I remember still not liking you."

"Feeling's mutual." He grumbled.

"And you." He gestured at Rufus. "I like a little better."

"Yay." He cheered sarcastically.

"But you." He bore Lucy with a scrutinizing look, seeing if it unnerved her, but she remained resolute unnerving him instead. "For some reason, I trust you with my life." He said low enough for her to hear, then ignored her surprised expression as he spoke up. "I take it the sleeper agent's dead?"

"Yes, you lived up to your natural charm."

"And I take it; you remember we don't want to kill you?" Rufus quired dubiously.

"I tried to kill you, remember."

"And he's back ladies and gentlemen."

"Not all there just yet, honey." He teased. Lucy snorted at his open audacity and walked away ignoring the wink he gave her.

"Don't call her honey." Wyatt said offensively as he passed him and joined the others who made their way towards the main street.

"Okay sweetheart, I'll try my best."

"Whatever do you see in him?"

Flynn heard Rufus ask of Lucy. Next, he saw the sly grin curl her lips and observed how she glanced over her shoulder at him on purpose before she looked ahead.

She shrugged and replied once he joined them. "The same threat Rittenhouse sees."


	13. Expendable

**EXPENDABLE**

"That's the sixth facility Lucy and I have infiltrated this week with nothing to show for it. Emma choosing this exact mission, knowing none of us could chase her in the Lifeboat. They're pulling us around by our noses and we're letting them. And still, Rufus is dead." Wyatt flicked a hand in the air. "I'm out." He walked away to his room, leaving the rest of the team thinking the same way.

"He's right." Agent Christopher said as she faced Lucy and Flynn sitting on the couch. "Each facility led us to another, with nothing concrete to hit at their core. We risked the team's safety yesterday and walked out with another surmount of data Jiya and Conner's currently sifting through. There's no location leading us to their backup server. And Jessica and Emma activated another sleeper agent in our absence. With us not knowing how it favours them in the present."

Flynn watched Denise walk for the Lifeboat, relaxed his arm along the back of the couch, and faced Lucy. "Perhaps the reason we can't find their last remaining server, can be that it's mobile."

"You're saying it's on a ship?"

"There are various modes of transport capable of holding it. It explains the lack of bearing."

"In other words, whatever we do, it's going to end up being a bust anyway."

"And it only took you six failed attempts and five countries to figure it out."

"Don't remind me."

"I'll be leaving you." Denise interrupted as she returned from the workstation's platform. "See you when the Mothership sets out again."

Both waved their goodbyes before sharing a brief, comfortable silence.

"How did it fare inside the bunker?"

"Fluent, in sync and composed. The heavy artillery was unforeseen though."

"Machine gun?"

"Uh-huh. I missed it. Thankfully, Wyatt didn't."

"He's been trained for vigilance. And fortunately we covered your withdrawal. Don't worry you'll figure it out eventually."

"It's not quick enough."

"With one man down, I understand your relentless training. But neither Wyatt nor I advanced at the pace you're pushing yourself to keep at. To be blunt, it's not going to happen overnight."

Lucy scowled disapprovingly. He waved his forefinger at her.

"Ha, now don't get me wrong. I support your decisions. But I'll always voice my opinion when absolutely necessary."

Huffing a sigh, she crossed her arms and closed her eyes. "Change of subject."

His arm retracted from its position as he vacated the settee and took a seat on the coffee table crosswise from her. They locked eyes with one another for a while before he took a breath.

"I don't particularly enjoy the idea of you with him."

Lucy smirked. His face knotted in a loathsome expression.

"It's a tug-of-war I gladly chose to participate in. But lately, the appeal's lost."

"Not the particular metaphor I prefer, Flynn."

"And sitting on the side-lines in case things go wrong is not my way of working together."

She sat forward. Their knees and hands inches away from another as her pixie-styled fringe blocked his view of her face.

"I requested to go on covert missions. Denise picked Wyatt. I picked Wyatt. You don't have a say regarding your duty anymore."

"I left you and Rufus alone once." He hissed upset. "Only once, and now I'm a spare wheel. I think it's enough punishment. And I've certainly earned more than my share to get back out there, with you."

Swallowing nervously, Lucy lifted her fingers and lightly touched his where they dangled from his knees.

"I feel like I'm losing touch." He whispered openly.

"Our trust, it's not mended yet."

"And what if you don't have the support on the next mission like you did yesterday? Instead of two, a dozen soldiers and dogs hunted you 'till the last minute. I'm sorry, but I'm not prepared to lose you, any of you."

"Flynn, I've learnt how to take care of myself. Wyatt never stopped his protective detail. Jiya and Connor bring up the rear. And Denise faithfully supplies you with covert ops while we're gone."

"It's not good enough."

"There's no changing it, Flynn. You have to accept the others don't want you on the team. Not until we find a way to bring Rufus back."

"And I'm just supposed to get used to the idea that I'm expendable? Since all you're doing is wasting what could turn out to be a good thing. And truth be known, I can't take seeing you leave me behind. When I know I'm of better value going with, than staking out shady Rittenhouse deals."

Lucy sensed his frustration, discerned the hurt in his voice, and knew his heart ached knowing he couldn't keep the promise he made to his family. Fact was; she hurt too, knowing she broke her promise to help him achieve their goal of mending history together.

Losing herself in getting stronger, and everyone's focus having shifted to save Rufus. The members had lost a part of themselves, turning inwards rather than truly aiding another. Even Flynn admitted he needed backing, but they pushed him aside for being one track minded. Because he left her and Rufus behind to defend the Lifeboat and in the end Rufus lost his life protecting Jiya. It was another nail to Flynn's brutal track record, and everyone agreed it was best he gathered Intel in the present instead.

No one dared speak to him afterward. It was only out of necessity Lucy forgave him months later and reinitiated some form of friendship. And so the tug-of-war began between him and the others, with her playing piggy in the middle. Tiresome to say the least, but it seemed to her it was always destined to work this way. Flynn had never chosen this willing, rather he stayed because of her.

"It was never my intention to leave you and the others unguarded. I trusted you to handle it like you always do. Wyatt needed the support and I made a judgment call; one that cost me dearly. But let's face it. The team needed someone to blame and it wasn't Emma and Jessica. I haven't done enough for anyone to trust me. Rather what I've done in the past to the team, to you. It destroyed any chance of restoration. It destroyed me and yet it only made you stronger and fearless."

"Flynn."

He touched his forehead to hers softly. "I'm leaving."

Lucy shook her head. "Please don't."

"To my room." He chuckled somewhat.

"Oh."

"I'll see you later." He stood, grinning as Lucy gazed up at him acceptingly. He touched her shoulder. "Don't overdo it. Experience is not a quick format."

"I'll keep that in mind thank you."

He walked away, further stating over his shoulder. "And Lake Misurina, it's not a total loss. You did blow it to kingdom come. Boom. Down goes another Rittenhouse server. Celebrate. Be proud. And so long mon chéri."


	14. Between the Land & the Sky

**BETWEEN THE LAND AND THE SKY**

He could feel it. The disappointment. The regret. The way love withered and dissolved like it never happened.

The weight of the world rested upon his shoulders. Every decision past and present like nails pinning him down while memories of a potential future passed by in a flash. He had lost himself in a fantasy of aesthetic flight only to fall back down to the cruel prospect of reality.

Sadly, the journal and this timeline held no connection. It had come from the future, entrusted to him by a woman who not only looked spectacular, but also intrigued his curiosity in no time at all. Now the same woman flitted in his thoughts and there was no spark. No connection. The then and now lacked the same intensity. The fascination was gone. Even the way her eyes had shimmered as her words revealed the truth about his pain and loss, all of it nothing but a dream.

Her personal awareness had lured him, made him believe again. Gave him hope and courage. Even after she had left him behind, the journal faithfully filled the void. Slowly but surely he allowed himself to soar upon its spellbinding promise of seeing her again.

Then the encounter took place and it wasn't the same as he imagined it would be. Rather, she had driven and driven him further in to the darkness and bitter rage. Gone was the kind-hearted woman. Soon replaced by one afraid and angry. Even the men who joined her side rejected his reasoning and insight. Their distrust like sheer shooting daggers, as they wrestled for the truth of the matter.

Nevertheless, that happened more than a year ago.

Now, still reluctant to trust one another, they worked together. It was then when he realized he had fallen for a deceptive version of their destiny. An idyllic picture formulated by a battle-hardened historian, whose passion and fearlessness drew him in like a Venus flytrap.

She was correct in saying he didn't know her, didn't understand this Lucy from this timeline. He'd tried to link two separate realities together to meet the journal's author once again. And instead, he allowed himself to be led down a path of heartache, pain and misery.

She wasn't the other Lucy who had sent him down a vengeful path. She never would be. This one lacked understanding. The alternate Lucy understood, and that had captivated him from the onset. It strengthened his resolve, gave him power and obsession to win her at her own time game. So far had he drifted into the stratosphere, that once he noticed her lack of kindness, it was too late to adjust course. His heart, hope and love vanished so swiftly they crash-landed, splintering to razor-sharp pieces of painful loss. The same loss experienced years ago.

Like many romantic readers, he, Garcia Flynn, had fallen for a mesmerising narrative. Only difference was, he knew the characters personally, lived the storyline, fell in love with the leading lady and pictured himself as the hero. But like all villains, his chance to be a knight in shining armour turned out to be slim. Too much pain, too much bitterness, and too much hatred marred his opportunity at redemption. He was toxic and only good for two things – snuffing out killers and being volatile.

He was a misunderstood, sad, lonely and broken down widower.

He pushed the depressive thoughts aside, moaning as shrill pain flowed over his body. Opening his eyes, he noted the concrete slab slanting over his abdomen and left arm, leaving the right side of his body untouched. Suddenly, the heavy dirt cloud stemmed his breathing and he forced his upper body to sit upright, but it only caused more agony. He yielded to the suffocating sensation, closing his eyes once more.

To the east, a soft cough echoed above the scattered debris. It had to be the sleeper agent and once the man regained full consciousness, he wouldn't hesitate to kill him. And as alluring as it seemed, dying in particular didn't feature as the main highlight of the day.

With mustered strength, Flynn shoved against the weight, growling in discomfort as it shifted away. And for the first time, he saw the inflicted damage. He fell onto his back, exhausted and shook with the torment his body had battled to contain.

Unbelievable he avoided the direct blast radius. Fortunate enough to have had ample protection so close to the explosion. Still, he couldn't ignore the amount of blood lost during the blackout. Or the groan of the other man echoing louder than before.

After a strenuous effort, he sat up straight, leaning on his right hand for support. His other arm suffered nerve damage, unable to move while he searched for more injuries. All over nasty cuts and scrapes peeked where debris had torn through his clothes, but blood and dirt had clotted around the wounds. Those severe, on his left arm and abdominal areas still flowed profusely.

Tearing a strip from his pant leg, he made a makeshift sling for his injured arm. A temporary fix, but effective nonetheless. Next, he tore at the shirt's hem, supplying a long enough strip to a wrap around the large gash and noticed the visible bruising covering most of his upper body. Luckily, no ribs suffered fractures, but the gash would need stitches soon. That was if he got home in one piece. Snarling at the idea, he went on to wrapping the material around his middle section, and knotted it securely to prevent the cloth from moving. Satisfied, he forced himself to his knees, then to his feet and gazed about the wooded area. It was littered with large chunks of brick walls, frayed wires, jutting rods, hacked trees and branches. But then in the distance to the east, a lanky man dressed in a torn tuxedo stood unsteadily and scanned the surroundings as well. Their eyes locked, the other man limping away and increased his speed.

In no mood to pursue, Flynn pushed through the agony and set after the sleeper agent at a wobbly pace. Within seconds, his speed increased also, injured arm hugging the wrap-around while he focused on the retreating form.

His vision blurred. Sweat beaded his forehead. Lips were dry from extensive breathing. He lacked willpower to carry on. Hope dwindled in the low. He couldn't remember what he was fighting for; why he even wanted to follow the sleeper agent.

True insight came with the explosion. Why would he want to keep going, if it would merely earn him another pat on the back? And another stake to the heart when she walked away unaware of his discovery? That regrettably, he was in love with a Lucy Preston from another timeline.

A thunder like clap resonated in the air as a gunshot went off. Before him, the sleeper agent hit the ground and stayed down. Grateful for the intrusion, Flynn slowed in pace, limping forward.

Somewhere in the run, blood had started to flow from the gash, adrenaline fortunately deafening the anguish of both it and his bruised body.

Within reach of the fallen man, he noticed the faultless aim of a trained soldier, and then an abrupt, terrified shout drew his attention, forcing him to one knee. In the crouched position next to a tree, he peered north, eyes squinting to seek out the culprit.

Whatever happened, the shooter had to be Wyatt, Rufus probably the source of the alarm and Lucy the one taken or rescued from the third assassin.

Right this moment, he was a ghost unarmed and bleeding badly. And if the team stayed true to their word, they were ignorant of his presence.

Unless they saw the explosion and assumed he was the source. They had tracked him down just like the third assassin had his pal. A wild guess, yes, but the only one which kept him glued to the tree, instead of approaching the area where the commotion came from. Plus, he was in no position to pick a fight, and yet he knew he wouldn't let it slip by so easily.

He still cared for her. Still wanted to protect her. Still wanted to show her how much he admired her. And simply put, there was no winning this internal war. But then his vision blurred and world spun and toppled as he lost consciousness, wishing he could've done things differently from the first day he saw her.


	15. Fallen

**FALLEN**

The skies overhead filled with thick ominous clouds, altering the tone about the suburb to a melancholy grey mask. The wind streamlined past him, ruffling the scarlet scarf he wore. His brown leather jacket fluttered as he cowered against the crisp undertone in the gust.

Garcia Flynn shivered.

Jet-black hair longer than usual. Beard scruffy. Eyes watery. Hands trembling from a recent adrenaline surge. Body numb from drowning his sorrows. Head pounding in the aftermath. Legs like jelly and arms weak from slamming his fists against brick walls.

He found himself on the corner of a street in the middle of nowhere. Oblivious to how he got there or why he was shivering to the jiggle of rattlesnake's tail.

The previous evening held the likeness of a raiding party. Burly soldiers, barking shouts, thumping boots, fear-laced screaming, and pounding rifles. No wonder he felt miserable and muddled. It still didn't explain the current location, and why it seemed so similar to a ghost town from an old western movie.

He huffed a wheezy sigh.

"You see that house?"

Flynn jolted with surprise. Slowly, his head tilted towards where she stood beside him. Her finger pointed at the two-story residence across the street. The lawn's honey colour made it look old and worn. A pink tricycle with white pompoms stood askew on the walkway. Off to its right, an ancient playhouse appeared gutted by the various weather conditions and for lack of use.

His eyes returned to her once more, aching to be near her comforting presence and to enjoy her peaceful smile.

"The answers are in there." She said.

"To what questions?"

"You'll see."

The scenery passed by in a blur up until he found himself staring at the front door. He gazed over his shoulder, noting the absence of his rescuer, then returned his attention to the obstacle before him. It opened by itself, screeching on worn hinges before bumping against the wall in a dull thud. A long passage stretched ahead and vanished deep within a black abyss. Wasteland gravel peeled from doorways of various rooms. Rooms he surmised were empty and too hopeless to unearth answers to non-existent questions. If he had questions, it would be for the benefit of deciphering this jigsaw puzzle. It made less sense by the minute.

He stepped forward. The timber floor creaked. A little girl crying echoed from a room bordering the void up ahead. He halted mid-stride, afraid to discover something clearly none of his business.

"Hello." The gravelly sound in his voice resonated back at him and amplified as it passed by. He closed his ears, staving off the sheer ache it produced. As his arms fell to his sides, the little girl stood a way off, staring at him with an inquisitive expression. She smiled.

He wanted to weep, but he perked up and smirked. "Well, hello there."

"Garcia, it's you." She called out delighted.

"Do I know you?"

"Don't be silly, Flynn. It's me, Lucy."

Suddenly the dark hair and cute rosy cheeks reminded him of the feisty historian. Those brown eyes gazed deep inside his soul. Glittering with so much exuberant youth, it deterred his scrutiny.

He swallowed a few times, taming his emotions best he could. "You're shorter than I remember."

She smirked. "I'm the part of you that's innocent."

Flynn smiled at that and knelt down to gaze directly at her. "Sugar, those are brave words coming from someone your age."

She carried on, ignoring the playful tone in his voice. "The only part untouched by the swelling darkness inside your soul."

"Okay, I dig the enlightened side to you." He chuckled whilst standing to his feet. "I think."

"Ever wondered what happened to me after you stopped chasing us?"

"Not really no."

"But you do know."

He shrugged somewhat. "Yeah, sure. I guess."

"It's why you spiralled from the precipice."

"Now that's just being rude."

"Understandable."

The little girl vanished.

Reluctant and yet curious, Flynn sought through the remainder of the wasteland rooms and came up empty. He returned to the passage and found an older version of Lucy standing at the front door. The spitting image of the woman he met that one grief-stricken evening.

"It's understandable. Rejected by a prominent clandestine Agency. Driven to show yourself rational and stable, despite the cynics. Ripped apart by retribution and obsession. Tarnished by guilt and shame. And then you return to discover the very woman who saved you, despises you."

His face knotted in anger. "I get the picture."

"Hates you. Rejects you. Thinks you are better suited to die in a prison cell."

"I said I get it!"

"Previously a bubbling, spirited man who cares deeply for the ones he loves. Now a deranged man desperate to escape what he's done to survive. Who's ruthless, brutal-"

"An accuser. A murderer. Thoughtless and uncaring. I know the mantra, Lucy." He cautioned aggressively. "I know all too well I deserve this crap. And coming from you? What better way to kick a man while he's down and out."

She ignored the vexed tone in his voice and continued. "And now I'm an illusion. A mere shadow to your lean form, while you sink deeper and deeper within the ocean you call despair. What do you have to say to me, Flynn? Do I have reason to be concerned? Do I have reason to invade dream after fitful dream? Nightmare after tormenting nightmare? Let go Garcia."

"N-n-no. Oh no." He quickly protested, taking hasty steps towards her, but then stopped as she winced. "You know I can't do that. I'm not going to stop until every last one of them is either dead or buried."

Lucy shook her head, taking pity on him for being ignorant and blind. "Who are you? What defines you? How do the thoughts of your heart separate you from the likeness of them? All that effort you went through to show me you had changed. Then you became them – without remorse and stone cold. So lost and confused. Bruised and battered. Both dead and alive at the same time. I could wish you were either or, Flynn. But you haven't changed. You're still the same man who forced me to work with you against my will. Manipulative. Overbearing. Unstable. Sadistic."

"Stop it!"

A vindictive smile curled her lips as he turned his back on her, trying hard not to act upon the rage boiling inside. Even so, like fiery darts, the well-known words pierced flesh, bone and marrow. And as she continued to speak, they continued to wreak havoc.

"You boast, 'I need nothing from anyone,' oblivious that in fact you're wretched, miserable, blind and unloved. Nothing you do can correct your past. It will never stop chasing you. It will never stop until you're consumed by its tormenting darkness. Until you realize you can never escape its miry pit of despair and loneliness."

Body alight as if soaked in a blazing furnace, Garcia's green eyes locked with her brown eyes. "What do you want from me? An apology? I'm not sorry for what I did. I don't have the faith, the courage, the experience to discern the voice of reason from my own. How can I? No one cares enough to see what broke me. Cahill speaks, knees knock. He speaks, your perfect life is ruined forever, and you're in for nights of begging in vain. Not good enough. Not worthy enough. Always unattainable. Never bothered to consider the world above his own. Now all of a sudden, you show interest. Now you intervene, after I've lost my humanity? Now you bother to show me you care. I've already shipwrecked my life and now you step up and act like you suddenly matter. How dare you!"

In a flash, she faded from view, leaving behind a desolate and empty house. Flynn growled in frustration, merely because the action confirmed his accusations.

"Fight!" Her voice commanded fraught with concern and desperation. He looked about the hallway confused and livid.

"Fight Flynn! Never stop fighting."

He felt the dark phantom more than saw it before he turned and bolted for the door. A curved knife sliced the air. He dove through the entrance, the blade zipping over his head as he shoulder-rolled along the footpath drenched in total darkness. The noise of timber splintering behind him came next and he barely managed to avoid the phantom's launching assault.

The curved blade came from above, aiming for his head. Rather, it ricocheted like a boulder off an unbreakable surface and circled back to its master. Flynn crawled away, outraged and barely registering the shield protecting him.

"What the hell is going on? Where the heck did you come from?"

The wraithlike form floated forward slowly, knife in a striking position.

It wavered.

"Come on Flynn." The voice pleaded in the backdrop. "Stay with me. Please, you have to fight this. Wake up!"

The obscure backdrop made it difficult to discern the phantom's hovering presence. Though he surmised, It was just as sceptical as he currently felt about this nightmare. Even so, he got to his feet, with an unexpected and strange power coursing through his body. This compelled him forward in a shoulder charge.

The phantom collided with the wall next to the door and slid down to the grass. Lingering in the seated position, heavy laughter filled the eerie atmosphere, then It rose to the height of a beast.

"You can't outrun your destiny."

Slowly but surely drawn out eyes formed and altered to black whilst a contorted, white mask served as a countenance. His body with freakish pale skin formed after, while its wraithlike presence faded away and transformed into filthy threadbare clothes. Still, its feet didn't touch the ground, but hovered like mist over a landscape.

Flynn trembled uncontrollably, disturbed and desperate to wake up.

The phantom chuckled deeply.

Swallowing against the bile in his throat, Garcia deliberated the trepidation skulking over his skin. Death was the phantom's forte, he, Flynn, knew it, understood it. He lived it – this was no longer a tussle. It was a fight for survival.

"And what is my destiny?" He muttered daringly.

Without warning, the shield protecting him crumbled to pieces. He gaged the action briefly, watching with rounded eyes as the wind took its powdered dust.

"Wake up." The phantom's lips curved in to a malicious smile. "You have to wake up. Or are you willing to sacrifice everything you've accomplished to save them?"

Flynn assumed a defensive position. The phantom returned to its wraithlike form, disappeared then reappeared as it pounced upon him. Coiling around his body, like a snake it wedged him in a taut bind and applied pressure. He writhed, wrestled, fought for breath as it continued to tighten around his torso, pinning him to the ground. Inhaling a deep breath, he braced for the grip's full force, and then screamed as loud and desperately as he could. "Wake up, Garcia! You need to wake up."

Jiya startled as the tall figure suddenly squirmed on the bed, growling vehemently for the phantom to release its hold on him. She stared at the commotion for a little while longer until Lucy rushed to her side.

"It's okay." She placed a hand to his chest and pacified. "Flynn, you're safe."

"He tore his stitches again." Jiya barely managed, but regained composure and checked his vitals on the monitor. Except for a racing heartbeat, everything else checked out, although the tussle caused the injuries to soak the bandages for a third time.

"Another nightmare." Lucy stated sadly.

"Never ends." Jiya grumbled.

"Water." Flynn croaked. "Pain."

Pouring water in to a Styrofoam cup, Lucy inserted a straw and held it to his lips. He sipped eagerly, urgently.

"Easy now. Not going anywhere."

"I'll see what I can do about easing the pain." Jiya turned around and exited his room, but then stopped and peered around the corner. "Stitches?"

"It's been a while. Perhaps it's not necessary anymore." Lucy gazed to him before looking over her shoulder. "I'll check it out and re-bandage the others. Okay."

"Okay."

And then they were alone. But Flynn kept his eyes closed and his breathing seemed to quicken as anxiety rose. She placed a hand to his arm, noticing how the action provoked unease, and then retracted it. He seemed to calm down.

"You're afraid of me."

"Not." A groan slipped by his lips. He tilted his head away from her when she checked the dressings over the gash running across his abdomen.

As Jiya suspected, the stitches came loose and yet no blood seeped from the laceration. The others along his dislocated arm and those covering his legs required a fresh set of gauze each.

She set off to retrieve them and sat down, cutting through the old dressings.

"What happened?" Flynn asked after a short interval.

"Explosion."

She said the word as if she had voiced it many times before. He grimaced both for the painful feeling she provoked tending his injuries and for being a nuisance asking the same question repeatedly.

"Sorry."

"It's been a while. You can't remember. Like you can't remember why you're avoiding me."

"Not. Intentional."

"I know what the nightmares are about."

"Can't control it." He supplied contritely.

"I don' think you want to."

He replied with silence.

"You're tormenting yourself."

"Death will never stop following me."

"Because you're irredeemable?"

"I deserve it. The others don't."

"And what about me?"

"Our destinies don't coincide and never will." Flynn inhaled a slow, unstable breath.

"So I am an imposter."

"You're not the same person. You're not the future you."

"But you chose to be here nevertheless."

"We share the same threat. Up to the point when we don't."

"I should follow the team's example and be heartless? Not be who I am and instead mind my own business?"

"Better. Brighter and I'll be less of a complication."

"You stay the outsider."

"I don't want to be the insider."

Lucy frowned her dislike, finished off her duty, and remained seated, warring between staying and leaving.

Flynn tilted his head to look at her.

"This is my life. Always fighting. Always damaged. Nothing about me will heal properly. I'll be ruined, bruised and volatile for as long as possible. On the run and never at a standstill to see if somebody cares. I don't give a damn either. It's a foregone conclusion. So stick to your side of the track and I'll stick to mine, and we'll get to the destination with or without each other."


	16. Retaliare

**RETALIARE**

Atop the bunker, laughter rattled his chest, as he soaked in the welcoming sight of the sparkling stars and moonlight drenching the surroundings in its soft delicate glow.

It was good to finally enjoy time alone and be away from sour faces and damning explanations. The future just seemed lighter, earnest, and encouraging outdoors.

Until a certain person cleared her throat behind him.

His shoulders slouched; posture drooped with dislike while he kept his eyes focused on the starry night sky.

"I don't think it's wise to be up here."

"I'm thinking." He merely supplied, avoiding his visitor on purpose.

"Is it a good or a bad thing?"

Flynn crossed his legs, straightened his back, glimpsing her sit down next to him and gaze up at the stars as well.

"It's a beautiful evening." She said.

"Uh-huh."

"What are you thinking about?"

"Oh everything, and nothing really."

"We used to be good at this." She gestured between them. "Talking, you know."

"I know."

"You're evasive and reserved." Lucy sighed somewhat. "It's unlike you."

"It's not easy being me. There's a lot to atone for."

"So that's what you've been doing lately?"

"Among other things. What are you doing following me around?"

"Curious."

"It didn't end well for the cat."

"Neither did it for the mouse."

He raised an eyebrow before tilting his gaze to her. He noted the sly smile curling her lips, and smiled along with her. Shrugging, he yielded and stated what occupied his thoughts.

"According to the Chambers dictionary RETALIATION is the act of doing something bad to someone in return for something they've done. In other words; to hit back, a counterattack, retribution and or reprisal. And according to the Latin definition of the word RETALIARE, it means to pay back in kind. It used to have both good and evil connotations. Therefore was 'a sort of', or 'a type of retaliation', but it has since lost its positive sense."

She took it in word for word before she sighed once more. "Hmm, never actually seen the positive sense."

"Uh-huh, from experience it's a nasty complicated mess. But then during my research, I came across something Martin Luther King Jr. said. It solves retaliation so brilliantly and so effortlessly. It's scary actually."

Lucy faced him, crossing her legs as he did previously, and waited patiently, knowing it was a touchy subject. "Okay so you got me curious."

"I thought finding me piqued your curiosity."

She cuffed his shoulder, sharing a soft sincere chuckle along with him and urged kindly. "What did he say, Flynn?"

His gaze shifted from hers to the sky as he quoted. "Man must evolve for all human conflict a method which rejects revenge, aggression, and retaliation. The foundation of such method is love."

"Wow. Hits a nerve."

"Why do you think I'm up here?"

"Thinking."

"Yeah. Clearly, it's well-said of course. And my foundation's always been love, though sadly I used it as a drive to try and save my family." With a sad expression, he looked to her. "We both know how well it worked out for you, and for me. They're still gone."

"But not forgotten."

"Of course not." He looked away again, but this time his eyes scoped the obscure outline of the forest encircling the bunker. "So yes, my love for them compelled me. A cause I still fight for. The reason I keep going strong. But then again, I was misguided in what I believed in, the foundation still being love. And acting like I do helps me to develop a method that instead accepts revenge, aggression, and retaliation. From the beginning, it's always been Rittenhouse and my grief. And as a result, I now realize I'm not so different from the sleeper agents we've been trying to stop."

It was quiet for a while as both pondered over the confessions and realizations. Lucy tapped his knee, drawing his attention but not the full view of his eyes. Those looked deep in to the night and appeared vague and sad.

"You've put a lot of thought in to this."

"It's not my first time, yes."

"Now what, Flynn? Thinking's got you to this point. But what are you going to do about it?"

"I don't know. I haven't really considered anything other than being what I know. I can't stop it either, because it's what's needed in order to help the team with our missions."

"But you can change your mindset." She offered. "Perhaps swop the perspective and instead reject their way of fighting. The foundation's still love, but do it the right way."

"You're speaking about forgetting two years of murdering people, and manipulating history to suit my need for retaliation. Altering everything I destroyed to cleaning the slate. And then just start over as if nothing happened. How?"

"Me." She said briskly, blushing somewhat as he looked to her with a stunned expression.

"You? I don't understand."

"I'm fighting for the same thing. We have that in common, don't we?"

"Yes, surprisingly we have a lot in common."

Her cheeks turned a darker shade of red. He smiled softly.

"Okay. My point is. I will always be there to resolve the situation, hopefully peacefully, whether it's you or the others. And I know you and the others will do the same for me."

"And what about when you're not there?"

"There will always be a voice of reason."

"And yet promising as it sounds, it doesn't have a silver lining, Lucy. I hurt you, badly. I did everything in my power to stop you, to control you, to-"

"Stop acting like the villain and start accepting the mess you've made. Let go, and instead fight for the sweet, beautiful memories you have of your family. Let it drive you to do good and kind things. Let it help you to make worthwhile decisions during our missions. And begin to see the love you have for them as a powerful cleansing agent. Don't let Rittenhouse win by losing what good you still have inside of you."

"The encouragement cuts both ways, hey?"

"It does, doesn't it?"

"I don't think you know how kind and persuasive you are."

Lucy scowled as he laid back, crossed his arms behind his head, and stared up at the stars. A complacent smile slinked along his lips, candidly savouring their wondrous display.

"Excuse me."

"You heard me. And they will begin to miss you downstairs."

"Dismissing me, are you Garcia?"

"Simply saying you're missed. I can stay up here for as long as I like. They won't notice my absence."

"Until Denise grounds you for being careless."

A deep chuckle reverberated in his chest. He gazed to her. "For a professor, you sure sound like a kindergarten teacher."

"I like to think I'm the fun one."

He laughed at that, drawing a displeased expression from her. "No kidding."

"What? I helped you out a few minutes ago, didn't I?"

"Still. The picture paints a thousand words."

"Now you're being a spoilsport."

A satisfied sigh slipped by his lips. "Ever thought why it's so easy to be annoyed with you and still manage to laugh in the same breath?"

Lucy thought carefully, lifting her eyes to the sky before scanning the depths of the forest vegetation. "I would say it's due to the bonds we are forced to make under duress. We can't help but push our differences aside, trust one another in order to stay alive."

"Logical, yes." He agreed, sat up and faced her, with intense green eyes locked on to her confused ones. "What if it's more than that? What if we've settled our differences and have reached the same conclusion?"

"Which is what exactly?" Lucy asked intrigued.

"We know each other. Understand each other. We've come to an agreement."

"On what?"

"That loss can get through to the worst of us. Can humble the best of us. Can reunite and strengthen an understanding that's been there from the beginning. Every one of us – is there something we haven't lost?"

She shook her head.

"No, there isn't. We've given up everything and yet we still have gained something albeit small in compensation."

"And what have we gained exactly?"

"We are committed and determined to save our past in order to have a future. We have a sole purpose in mind and that's to rid the world of Rittenhouse."

"So we've developed for our conflict a method which rejects revenge, aggression, and retaliation. Rather we've accepted our fate, channelled our loss towards a way to make our world better and safer. Without anyone knowing why or what we sacrificed wanting to achieve it."

"Precisely."

"Sounds valiant and heroic."

"Wave the banner proudly, Lucy." He smirked. "Regardless if no one gets to see it."

She shared his smile, squeezed his knee in comfort.

He captured her hand before she could let go and held it delicately. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Being persistent."

"We take care of each other."

"That we do." He stood, still holding her hand and helped her up. They watched how their hands slowly released the other, both missing the warmth of the embrace. Afterward, they locked eyes with one another.

"A request if I may?"

"Yes."

"Don't give up. And I won't give up on you."

She grinned coyly. "Deal."

Flynn nodded curtly, mirroring her bashful expression, then he nudged his chin towards the ladder leading down. "We should."

"Yes, before they notice I'm gone."

"Ouch. The heart it bleeds." He feigned offense, Lucy amused by his antics as he continued mocking. "We need a medical team ASAP. Man down. We've got a man down."


	17. Years Misplaced

**YEARS MISPLACED**

Walking upon the stilted pier, he breathed in the fresh ocean air. A pleasant smile curving his lips as his eyes inspected the expanse of the shimmering horizon. Between his slender fingers dangled a baseball bat. In the other hand, a bucket full of biodegradable balls swayed along with his sluggish stride. Stopping short of the edge, it found its place off to his left. Afterwards, he stood for a while, appreciating the sound of the waves lapping lazily against the shore beneath him.

"Yup, definitely could get use to this."

Positioning his right hand in the middle of the bat's grip, he tapped its edge against the wooden surface. With the other hand, he retrieved a ball from the container, gazed over the horizon, and made a mental marker about seventy feet away.

An hour and thirty minutes of light remained, which gave him plenty of time to swing through to the bottom of the bucket. Without further ado, the ball soared straight up in the air as he placed his left hand underneath the right and pulled back. The bat lingered over his shoulder while he waited for it to reach eye level, then stepped forward with his left foot, and knocked it dead centre. It glided along a good distance before plunging into the water.

"Got to say. Not bad for someone who hasn't played in a while."

Garcia continued for another ten minutes, with focus steady on advancing the following balls past the marker. A satisfied grin quirking his lips every time the evolving objective became harder and harder. Whilst on the horizon, the sun kissed the ocean's edge. A hue of reds and oranges now streaking across the sky as it signalled the near closure of another quiet day.

He respited, resting the bat upon his right shoulder and tightened and released his grip a few times before it lingered in a taut position.

Yesterday it was the shooting range. The day before, it was horseback riding across winding meadows and idle streams. And the day before that, an eventful archery competition.

It had a certain charm to it, being able to relax, and yet at the same time it felt awkward. As if his body and mind expected an attack he certainly knew he was unprepared for. In addition, everything he required he already had, and still he lacked something precious, something meaningful.

He no longer had a purpose, but a net stocked to the brim with dreams and no one to share them with. He was alone.

Bending down, he grabbed another ball, stepped in to a side stance, ignoring the nostalgia, tossed it up in the air and hit it, the ball reaching the same location as the previous ones. He grabbed another and followed the same procedure, but this time unease trembled over his form.

He cursed, watching as the ball clipped the edge of the bat and spun backwards, bouncing along the pier until it fell down to the waves below.

"Flippin' fantastic. Focus, Garcia." But found he couldn't.

The day another Lifeboat appeared in the bunker, and out walked Lucy and Wyatt battle scared and morbid, life as he hoped it would be took a considerable turn for the worse. So instead, he lost perspective, chose a life without conflict, and now time had slowed down to such an extent, it curved back on him. Just like the ball did moments ago.

The past had become the present. And the future became history, leaving him with nothing to fight for. Nothing to hope for. Nothing to hold on to. Rather he found the scars of times gone by a painful remembrance of what he deserted. And now he was a prisoner locked up inside his own betrayal and escape.

The Roman historian Vegetius once lamented about the declining of their heavy infantry.

_Those who find the old arms so burdensome, must either receive wounds upon their naked bodies and die, or what is worse still, run the risk of being made prisoners, or of betraying the country by their flight. Thus, to avoid fatigue, they allow themselves to be butchered shamefully, like cattle."_

He understood what the historian meant, when he said the heavy infantry withered on the vine. Caught between the growth of lighter armed/less organized foot soldiers, and the increasing cavalry formations of the mobile forces, they became ineffective. Due to lack of discipline they lost their momentum. They became weak and fell away.

His own decline had been slow and steady at first. But now, as his eyes caught sight of the dying sunlight still fighting its way through a thick cloud, he realized he didn't try hard enough. He gave up too quickly, lost momentum, became ineffective, and hit rock bottom, withering away little by little. Like the rays of the setting sun, he should've pushed through towards the finishing line. But he hadn't.

Now he competed with what to do with his spare time. Doing things he always dreamed about, despite the guilty feelings tearing at his emotions the further away he advanced from the fight.

He simply exchanged his tenacity for leisure. Unlike the Romans who kept going relentlessly until they completely crushed or neutralized their enemies. And did not stop, unless they received a command from the emperor or a decree from the senate. And where the Romans faced another large state structure, such as the Parthian Empire, they found the military road rocky indeed and were sometimes forced to a stalemate. Nevertheless, the distinct pattern of Roman tenacity held. And even faced with avoiding battle for a lengthy period, they rebuilt their forces on land and at sea, and persisted in the struggle for ultimate domination.

Having read that and after all the years of persisting, he forgot why he joined the fight in the first place. When, upon a stormy night, he remembered tenacity and hope came because of his mother, his wife and daughter, Lucy Preston, preserving history and dare he say because of Rittenhouse. All of a sudden the beauty of a rainbow held no promise, no worth or closure. Realization, cruel as it was kind, revealed that he stopped being Garcia Flynn the day he walked out of the bunker years ago.

So he agreed yes, life was a rocky road indeed.

"Nothing is more wretched than the mind of a man conscious of guilt. Thanks Plautus, but you're three years too late."

Stooping, he retrieved the empty bucket, glimpsing the last minute of the day seeping away behind the ocean's boundary. Then turned on his heels, with bat leaning his against shoulder, and returned to his little house skirting the sandy coastline.


	18. Why Did We Wait

**WHY DID WE WAIT**

_The years, they've slipped through my fingers. I can't remember the last time I wrote a letter to offer peace and comfort._

_But today it's different._

_I'm writing to put myself at ease. To reassure myself I never forgot you my love. But rather I allowed you to hide away in my heart, far from all the hurt and pain I've sown over the years._

_Do you remember the letters I used to write? My name signed the end of one more tale, one more poem. It lingered after every deepest expression of how much I missed you. Constantly you occupied my thoughts. My dreams. My aspirations. You gave me hope and love. From afar, I knew you thought the same. It gave me comfort and joy knowing I lingered in your mind, your dreams, how much I strengthened you during the days of solitude. _

_Oh, how I long to ease your pain, your angst and days of worrying once more._

_I used to sleep at night before the blinding lights settled deep in my mind. They awoke me. Terrified me. Haunted my nightmares. But then we met, those times changed. You chased away my fear, dread, and soothed my aching heart. I stopped writing. I never took my true feelings, no longer wrote them down. You were at my side, listening, holding me, always so close to your heart. So when the dreadful day came, I was lost standing in the wilderness, terrified of the words left unspoken between us. _

_Our lives, they changed so fast, still hoping pure love could last. Then you were gone and I realized how much I ached for your letters to arrive. That something so small kept me alive. When after all those wasted hours of walking around, I found they had anchored me to you._

_Why did we wait so long? _

_All those wasted days? I'm so powerless to redeem them. To turn back the clock, and return to the day I never should have left you behind. _

_I wish I could've turned down those days I knew we would spend apart. _

_I never should've left you behind._

_Do you still remember the letters I wrote to you my true love? When I signed my name? We used to search for them. Those beacons of light and hope. Sometimes they never came. We could feel the hurt and pain._

_Now after so many years, here I am still eagerly awaiting your reply. Like a patient on a table, I yearn to walk again, desperately want to move through the pain. Oh my love, I'm still moving through the pain. I can't stop screaming, can't stop yearning. I don't want to leave you behind. I never meant to leave you behind. _

_I can't stop wondering. Don't want to stop thinking, hoping this is all just a dream. Yet, you've never proven me wrong, my love. You've been faithful to remind me. I expected your letters to come. Anxious to read your words of comfort and peace, knowing they would anchor me to you. But the chain's broken. My heart's broken, forced to let go and drown in endless sorrows. _

_How could we part when we promised it would never end? _

_A love so pure shattered and tainted; earnest and bright all but ash._

_How could we lose the only dear thing we ever loved? Her flicker of light we could've protected, we could've sheltered her from the outside world. _

_It was too early in life._

_I lost you both, my precious love. How could I have lost you to the depths of the dark night? You slipped through my fingers, shattered to a million pieces; what I used to look for, taken by the wind. Gone, never to found again. Gone for all eternity. _

_Oh, how I miss her, my love. It aches. It burns. It twists. It cuts. My love, I miss you so much. Why did we take so long to turn our lives around? Why did I realize too late what I had could vanish so swiftly? If I only knew the dangers, I would've sheltered you, hid you, kept you close to my heart. _

_I was lost to the beauty of our precious world; I failed to cling to you. I failed to stand my ground._

_I regret waiting this long._ _Now you will never know or hear again. You are forever my one and only true love._


	19. Our Allegiance

**OUR ALLEGIANCE**

"Logic suggests that loyalty must be voluntary, thus the use of coercion undermines claims of samurai loyalty." Flynn gazed up from the article he was reading and nodded. "It's reasonable." He continued on to the next section. "A samurai risked his land, his status, and possibly his life. Many times, those willing to betray their lord and join another were welcomed. Yet, it remains difficult to trust a traitor, no matter where his current loyalties seem to lie."

"And can you be trusted?" Lucy inquired mischievously.

"Can you?" He challenged playfully. "Besides, I certainly know where my loyalties lie."

"Fair point."

He smirked, chuffed with her quick surrender, and read on. "Alessandro Valignano noted that the Japanese people had 'meagre loyalty'. _'They rebel . . . whenever they have a chance, either usurping [their rulers] or joining up with their enemies. Then they about-turn and declare themselves friends again, only to rebel once more when the opportunity presents itself. Yet this sort of conduct does not discredit them at all. As a result, none of the lords (or very few of them) are secure in their domain . . . Japan was divided up among so many usurping barons . . . each one trying to grab for himself as much territory as he can.'"_

"João Rodrigues made similar observations. '_The only authority or law was military might . . . treachery was rampant and nobody trusted his neighbour. Often the most influential servants would murder their own lord and join up in league with other more powerful men, in order to be confirmed in the possession of their territory. A man could not trust his neighbour and always kept his weapons close at hand . . . Every man [remained] in his house like a petty king and recognising no superior so long as he could defend himself.'"_

He stopped abruptly, glaring at her as she searched underneath the pillow on his bed. "What are you doing?"

"Looking for a gun or a knife of course."

"You're cute."

"Uh-huh." She sat back down, smiling cheekily at him.

Garcia narrowed his eyes and pointed down to the touchscreen device nestled on his lap. "Thus daimyō issued _kahō_ (house laws) to address these problems; the most pertinent among these are the _kashindan_ (retainer) control laws. In extreme cases, any transgression of the _kashindan_ control laws was considered to be disloyalty. Katsumata argues that the daimyō tried to establish an 'authoritarian power structure' by transmuting 'obligations of loyalty felt by retainers' towards the group they belonged, to obligations toward the _kokka_ ('state' or 'polity,' in particular the realm the daimyō controlled)."

"And you can stop right there. It's going in one ear and out the other."

He simply ignored her, grinning slyly as his eyes caught the following paragraph. "Before we leave this subject, it is worth noting that Sengoku daimyō were constantly issuing laws against 'treachery' in the _kahō_, and were constantly promoting loyalty as an ideal. Furthermore, a 'sure' loyalty did not exist. Even if a retainer were ostensibly 'loyal,' his lord would not necessarily trust him. It remained important that the retainer was completely dependant on his lord, and feared his power."

"And you read these excerpts from?" She probed a little frustrated, beckoning her hand at him.

"_Understanding Samurai Disloyalty_ by Joshua Archer."

"And?"

Flynn went back a few pages and read aloud what he thought was a suitable reply. "The more power a samurai wielded, the more likely he would be able to switch sides without major consequence. Therefore, while switching sides was not uncommon among medieval samurai, it obviously involved considerable risk. The risk, however, would often be worth it for those who ensured they joined the winning side in a battle."

"Okay. So obviously I asked the wrong question. How about _a why_ then?"

"Because I can. And . . . I don't know. It has a certain appeal."

"Samurai clashing swords and either usurping or claiming their rulers, and or switching sides to join the enemy. Trading in their loyalty to grab for themselves as much territory as possible. Government implementing laws to control treachery, whilst in the same breath creating an ideal notion about a 'sure loyalty' which did not exist. In short, no could be trusted, especially a samurai and especially someone who held the most power. And if they were to switch sides, it would be to join the winning side."

"And who said you weren't listening?"

Garcia chuckled as the dislike played out on her face.

"It has a certain charm?" Lucy reminded him lowly.

"It has."

"Where's the plus side? The cherry on top? The silver lining?"

"The positive aspect of wielding a sword you mean? It's being awesome and badass, stoic and skilled in the art of _Zanshin_."

"Something like that, yes." She scowled deeply, but then her furrowed brow relaxed as interest got the better of her. "What's the English word for _Zanshin_?"

"It means constant alertness. See?" He motioned at her. "Positive."

"What's the negative side?"

"What makes you think there's a negative side?"

"With you, it's never just straightforward."

"Comforting deduction." Garcia murmured a touch disgruntled, scrolling down until he detected the word and its definition. Then sighed as he quietly scanned through the first paragraph. The sparkle in his eyes dwindled, Lucy barely containing her 'I told you so' remark.

"Okay. Says here: the key to understanding samurai disloyalty is understanding the attitude warriors held towards betrayal. The clear sense of mistrust among samurai is starkly evident through their martial philosophy and exercise. The practise of _zanshin_ involves maintaining a high level of awareness at all times. Though a variety of literature on martial philosophy and practise has survived, the practise of _zanshin_ is virtually ignored by scholars. This dismissal is a grave mistake. In its very essence, _zanshin_ implies a severe mistrust of one's surroundings."

"See, _ne-ga-tive_." She bit back a giggle as he glared at her. "Even so, in those times no one trusted anyone or anything. How's that an attractive way of living?"

"I never implied I favoured their lifestyle. I enjoy what I read and admire on screen. And I like to think there were honourable swordsmen, too. For example – those who intervened on behalf of those who were powerless. With that being said, not everyone's a rotten apple."

"Touché."

"Exactly."

Repositioning herself on the bed, she leaned her back against the wall and raised an eyebrow. "So? Loyalty versus disloyalty in Japanese ancient times. What's the catch?"

"No catch."

"Come on, Garcia. A historian exhibits the same interest in similar subject matter. I should know. I am one."

"Not everything has to be a lecture you know."

"Or a discussion seems like it."

"Ours." He gestured between them, deliberately stressing the point. "They never end on a good note."

"Name one."

"Just one?"

"You're cute."

"I like to think so, too."

A mischievous grin lit up his facial features. Lucy rolled her eyes.

"Don't get cocky, Flynn. You still need to give me an example."

"Okay if you want one, here's one." He raised an index finger, allowing a wry smirk to move along his lips ever so slightly, then quoted. "You see one red coat, you've seen them all. Big deal."

He relaxed in the chair, setting aside the device on the desk next to him. Afterwards recognition showed on his face, knowing what happened after that specific tiff. He wanted to retract the statement, but the same realization lit up in Lucy's brown eyes.

Canting her head, she bit her bottom lip, stemming the bad memories as they came rushing in. She nodded in spite of it. "Oh yes, the time we interrogated Benedict Arnold." She raised her index finger. "And it is still a very big deal."

"Need I say more?" He emphasized with outstretched arms before lowering them to the chair's armrests.

She shook her head, chortling in order to soothe the awkward tension that had swiftly resulted between them. Garcia instantly knew what she wanted him to do and dipped his chin curtly.

"Good. And it's in the past. We're cheering for the same side. All we're doing now is simply sharing a fascination for history. Dare I say, as it should be done. The right way."

"No argument there."

"Thank goodness. She relents."

"I have one more question though."

"Just one?" He asked softly, the light-heartedness suddenly lost between them.

"Did you ever see yourself as disloyal?" She asked speedily, avoiding eye contact as she did so.

"Before this whole changing history dilemma, it never crossed my mind. But after then, one objective changed it completely. You know what it is."

She shifted her attention to him, marking the softness in his eyes, and then the blank expression on his face. She knew whom and what he was referring to and replied accordingly. "Yes, I do."

He swallowed timidly, aware of the deep waters they treaded, but when it came to her nowadays, he no longer wanted to hide from her.

"Specific moments presented themselves where I had to be disloyal, but it was always for the good of bringing them back. And doing whatever it took, justified it. So yes, in some way, like the samurais, I took the side which led me closer to the goal of getting my life back."

"You're still here."

"It's not like prison gave me much of a choice."

"After what I was forced to do to demonstrate my loyalty to my mother." Lucy took a deep breath. Garcia looked away when she carried on. "I realize why you never gave up trying to prove we were on the wrong side. Guess our captivity slowed us down enough to help us see where our loyalties rested."

"Yes that we were always on the same side; even though it took us a while to grasp it. Still, it doesn't condone what I did to you or to Rufus and Wyatt. And neither does it justify what you did to me. The mending after that, it lasted longer than I expected."

"And despite the relapses of loyalty and the moments of betrayal, we're doing everything in our power to stay true to the cause."

"Yes, that's true."

"So then why did you share this with me?"

He looked to her, with narrowed eyes, reflecting on a suitable response. His face lit up in an amicable expression, Lucy uncertain by the sudden change, but then mirrored the same look.

"To remind myself it's not who I am anymore. Plus, having an honest and kind-hearted soundboard like you merely seals the deal."

Lucy gave him a soft smile. Something he returned with optimism. "That's . . . reasonable." She agreed.

Garcia nodded and jested. "And who doesn't enjoy learning more about samurais?"

"Naturally, all men are prone to a good Japanese sword fight now and then."

"Speaking of which." Getting up from the chair, Garcia wiggled his eyebrows at her. "I have this great Japanese flick I know you'll adore."

"That's highly debatable." She joined him in standing.

"Popcorn. Beer. Chocolate. What's not to like?"

"Midnight snacks. Good company. Hopefully a superb, classical movie." She shrugged, sharing a comical chuckle with him. "Yeah, what's not to like. But I'm choosing the theme tonight."

Flynn acted as if disappointed, making her smile sweetly. He smirked. "Geez, you're such a killjoy."

"And for once the kettle is black."

With a deadpan look, he offered his arm for her to take. "I thought it was silver."

She pushed him towards the closed door. "Oh my gosh, you're ridiculous."

"I swear." He blocked her way, a teasing grin climbing ever so quickly on his lips. His eyes danced with satire, Lucy finding his behaviour annoying yet attractive. "I'll take you to the kitchen and show you myself. It's stainless steel. Silver. Not black."

Serious all of a sudden and beckoning him closer, she watched how he curiously leaned forward, and then whispered in his ear. "Did you know an important tactic used by medieval samurai is to ambush his enemy?"

"Please do enlighten me, Professor." He urged playfully.

Her left hand stopped inches away from his chest, slowly moved along 'till her fingers softly teased his neck, then rested behind his ear. Her thumb stroked his cheek. His eyes closed upon touch, aware she did more than enough to incite suspense.

She whispered. "They feign goodwill, showing 'much affection and familiarity, laughing and joking with him.'" He felt her other hand move along his neck and stroke his right cheek. Anticipation and excitement came along with the close contact, and he held his breath as she continued with the torturous feat. "They then wait until their enemy is 'completely off his guard,' and attack him with their sword, then calmly act as if 'nothing had happened.'"

Tilting his head, his lips touched her forehead. "But a warrior must constantly be on his guard. Otherwise, what's the use in practicing _zanshin_?" Sensing her trifling giggle, his hands found her shoulders, conscious of their tension and changed the subject. "Don't bring about hope unless you can follow through on it."

"What do you want then?" She requested barely audible.

"What do you see that I fail to see in myself?"

"People are more than just flesh and blood moulded by society." Her right hand slid down to his chest, then stopped on his heart. She tapped there twice. "From a person's heart springs forth who they really are. It's deeper than data and guidelines created by experts."

"Clearly, you've given me the benefit of the doubt. Why do I deserve it?"

"Because I've felt your pain. Experienced what you've lost. Done what you've done to alleviate it. Seen the repercussions and now I wish everyone can be as loyal as you are."

"I don't like where this is going, Lucy."

"Neither do I."

Garcia leaned back, allowing her hands to fall down to his arms and looked beyond her. "How long?"

Her brow furrowed as she looked up at him. "How long until what?"

"We are two shields, you and I." He gazed down at her, eyes brimming with intensity. "How long until they smash to pieces? When will I realize this is some kind of aspiring dream?"

"How can someone so gentle and thoughtful, be so callous and abrasive? How can you think so little of yourself, but have such remarkable confidence in me?"

"The words sickness and in health, to death do us part. It's not an oath to be taken lightly. They've been my loyal companions for a long time. _It is_ my loyalty. So again, I am going to test you, my dear Lucy. Don't bring about hope unless you are sure I am who you want."


	20. Infinite

**INFINITE** **(Part 1**)

Chairs screeched across the floor as they independently found a spot within the kitchen. Even the couch angled towards it. The team sharing lively laughter, as with ease each one prepared hot chocolate for themselves.

Flynn leaned against the wall of the passageway, quietly observing from a distance how the scene played out. They were carefree. So caught up in the moment to notice somebody stalked in the shadows, very much aware of their bonding moment.

"If none of this existed." Jiya began unexpectedly. In tandem, the group looked to her. "And if you have the opportunity to go back in time and converse with one of the greats. Who will you pick?"

Her question hovered between them for curt seconds before Lucy narrowed it down with questions of her own. "In our line of work? Or in general?"

"Right along the first one."

"How about who made an impact on you as an individual?" Rufus offered as an alternative.

"Yeah, that definitely narrows down the field." Wyatt quipped.

"I was thinking more along the lines of motivation slash inspiration. Like for instance. If I had to choose someone who inspires me it would be Amelia Earhart. Yes, I know we're well aware she's an aviation pioneer. And the first female pilot to do a solo flight across the Atlantic."

"And at Purdue University, she was an advisor to aeronautical engineering and a career counsellor to female students. A member of the National Woman's Party and an early supporter of the Equal Rights Amendment."

Jiya smiled at Lucy. "Yes and other amazing cool stuff. And what an absolutely fabulous woman to swop stories with."

"So it's pioneers then?" Wyatt asked, taking a seat on the couch next to Rufus.

"Not really, but if you want to."

From his perch, Garcia savoured the cashew nut he munched on and smirked at the scope of the question. He plopped another one in his mouth, watching intently as Mason leaned against the stove.

"What I would give to have a drink with the chaps responsible for the Titanic. Albeit short."

"They were three, right?" Denise asked from across the room, taking a seat at the table.

"Yes, the young Thomas Andrews is commonly referred to as the designer. After he stepped down, Alexander Carlisle took over from him, and was mostly responsible for much of the ship's internal design-"

"Edward Wilding was the third chief naval architect." Rufus cut in eagerly. "He contributed his expertise in the mathematical calculations relating to the stability, displacement and hull integrity."

"Yes, and despite the mishap."

"The iceberg's a titanic disaster, Conner."

He glared at Rufus who grinned wickedly in reply. "Whatever mate. They still managed a masterful and exquisite creation. In my books, they surely contributed to the pioneering world."

"And what about you, Agent Christopher?" Jiya probed as she handed her a mug of hot chocolate.

Crossing her arms, she narrowed her eyes at the young technician who sat down next to her. She answered with a sense of awe in her voice. "They call her the 'White Mouse'."

"Oh yes, Nancy Wake." Lucy exclaimed, eyes sparkling with fascination. "The leading figure for the French resistance in World War II. Gestapo termed her for her elusiveness, and because she was the most wanted person then. Had a five million franc price on her head."

Denise nodded, mirroring the same intrigued expression. "She definitely didn't shy away from helping her country. Cycled 300 miles through German checkpoints to replace codes her wireless operator had been forced to destroy in a German raid."

"That's daringly cool." Jiya said.

"Geez, we barely survived Nazi Germany, and she did three hundred miles of it."

"Dude, we met Ian Fleming." Wyatt countered. "And you did tell von Braun where to stick it."

"Still don't like that dude."

"The additional James Bond book and flick? C'mon, that's got to sweeten the trip."

"Knowing we inspired it, damn right yeah."

"Wasn't Nancy enrolled into the Special Operations Executive after she escaped back to Britain?" Lucy asked of Denise, getting the men back on topic.

"Yes, only to parachute back into occupied Auvernge. Where she provided arms and intelligence to local resistance forces camped out in the Forest of Tronçais."

"She helped lead attacks on SS soldiers causing 1,400 casualties while only suffering 100 themselves. On one such raid, she killed a SS sentry with her bare hands to stop him from raising the alarm." Flynn skulked from the shadows and smiled cheekily as he intruded upon their little get-together. He gazed to Denise, ignoring the various looks everyone else gave him. "I must say, it's a very fitting selection Agent Christopher."

"Thanks." She replied bemused.

He grabbed a chair, lobbed it in down in reverse not too far from Lucy who sat closest to the kitchen cabinets, and placed another cashew in his mouth. Next, he smiled candidly as everyone gazed at him like a number out of place.

With wry grin evident, Garcia looked to Wyatt. "And you soldier boy? Who's your great meet? Now don't tell me. You seem like a Howard Hughes fan. Hmm, maybe too philanthropist for you. Perhaps Frank Abagnale Jr. would be the more suitable choice?"

"Not even close."

"Of course. Too smart for you."

"No, too much like you."

"Ouch." Rufus said softly. "They're neck in neck."

"_Catch Me if You Can_. Yeah? We caught your sorry ass didn't we?"

"Agent Christopher did a stellar job, yes."

"Hello, guys." Lucy chipped in. "Friendly communal discussion here. Focus, please."

"Well, I would really like to see Eugene Bullard in action." Rufus announced seriously.

"The first African American military pilot. Flew for France, right?" Flynn asked of the geek. They looked at him in surprise. "What? So I know my military history. Big deal."

"He was a big deal, but not in America though. As a teenager, he stowed away on the German freighter _Marta Russ_, hoping to escape racial discrimination. In London, he boxed and performed slapstick. Then later on he went to box in Paris and also worked in a music hall."

"In World War I he joined the 3rd Marching Regiment of the Foreign Legion. By 1915, he was a machine gunner and saw combat on the Somme front in Picardy."

Rufus frowned at Garcia, then moved to the edge of his seat, seemingly challenging the other man. "He also served with the 170th French Infantry Regiment."

Smiling slyly, Flynn snapped his fingers. "Oh yes, the _swallows of death_. His former Regiments joined to become the 1st Moroccan Division. And then went on to become one of the most decorated units in the French Army."

"In March 1916 at the _Battle of Verdun_, Bullard was seriously wounded in action. That October he volunteered for the French Air Service as an air gunner. After then, his training began, received his pilot's license, and went on to represent France well into World War II."

"The _Black Swallow of Death_ they called him."

"In 1959, he was made a _Chevalier of the Légion d'honneur_ by General Charles de Gaulle, who called him a true French hero. And 33 years after his death, Bullard was posthumously commissioned a second lieutenant in the United States Air Force."

"Wow, learn something new every day." Lucy said as she gazed from Rufus to Flynn, then to Logan. "Wyatt. You wanted to share something?"

A snort came from Garcia who she quickly shushed with a glare. He raised his hands in surrender.

"Private Jacob Parrott. The first Medal of Honour recipient."

"That's simply beautiful."

"The Medal of Honour was created during the _American Civil War._" Rufus relayed, ignoring Garcia's remark. "And is the highest military decoration presented by the United States government to a member of its armed forces."

"_Yes_. It's for his role in the _Great Locomotive Chase_." Wyatt's forehead wrinkled as he pondered for a bit. "During the heroic raid of the _General_ with 21 others, they were captured and imprisoned. Parrott was severely beaten 110 times in an attempt to make him talk. He and fourteen others managed to escape, but only six of them reached friendly lines. Later, he was exchanged and taken to Washington D.C. met President Abraham Lincoln, and was presented with the Medal of Honour by Secretary of War, Edwin M. Stanton."

"Served with the Union Army for the remainder of the war." Lucy went on. "Commissioned as a second lieutenant in 1863 after the _Battle of Stones River_ and as a first lieutenant in 1864."

"After the war, he returned to Kenton, Ohio and remained a cabinet maker and operated a stone quarry south of Kenton. I admit, Delta. It's a fine choice."

"Okay mister interruptus." Jiya crossed her arms; glared at Flynn.

He smirked wryly. "_Yes_."

"Spill it."

He thumbed to his right. "What about Lucy?"

"Oh, the historian goes last."

"Since when?" Lucy protested.

"Since we receive a history lesson every time we skip back in time."

"Fare point." Conner inserted.

"Huh-uh." Garcia shook his head. He nibbled at another cashew and gestured at her, almost losing a few in the motion. "Better defend your territory, professor. You're most certainly tougher than this."

"No argument from me." Rufus threw his hands up.

"Yeah, you learn to back down after a while."

"Doesn't take much for you to slip into the shadows." Garcia poked at Wyatt.

"Perhaps we've veered a bit too far off course."

As one, the group gazed to Denise. She feigned innocence, shrugged and sipped at her hot chocolate. "What? We've had our chance. Let brawn go before beauty and intelligence."

"Ugh, low blow." Flynn faked a pained expression.

Jiya snorted. "Taste of your own medicine for a change."

"So I know a few titbits. Now I'm promoted? It should be brain before brawn."

"So now I am the brain? What happened to 'atta girl you show 'em who's boss'?"

"Homerun ladies and gentlemen." Rufus cheered.

"Slam, dunk and the crowd goes crazy."

"Woot, woot."

Puzzled, the group glared at Conner Mason. He gave them a bug-eyed expression, tilted his head and grinned coyly. "What? It seemed appropriate."

"_Okay_." Jiya huffed a peeved sigh. "Guys, we're way off the beaten track."

"Of course, yes." Lucy gestured with both hands at the tall gent beside her. "It's Flynn's turn."

He narrowed his eyes to slits, curious. Ate his last cashew nut and stood. "Of course, professor. But first, where's the popcorn?"


	21. Infinite Ruse

**INFINITE RUSE**

"Christopher Columbus?" Lucy looked at him, surprised by his selection.

Garcia halted before his chair. In his one hand rested a bucket of popcorn, while in the other were a stack of bowls about to topple over. He sat down. "Now you're just repeating what I said."

The bucket and bowls slid to the centre of the table, the group grabbing a handful each.

"We've never travelled so far along the timeline." Rufus said in Jiya's direction.

"I didn't give a limit remember."

"Can we go that far?" Wyatt asked dubiously.

"When again?"

"Late fourteen hundreds." Conner said through a mouth full of popcorn.

"Why?" Lucy inquired with a furrowed brow.

"Why not? If it weren't for his sense of adventure, you think Amelia Earhart would've pursued her dream? What about the guys from the Titanic? And Eugene Bullard? Columbus is the father of pioneering." The others stared at Flynn, amazed. He shrugged. "To me he is. C'mon, he's the Admiral of the Ocean Sea."

"Okay, fair enough. He was vastly self-educated, widely read in geography, astronomy, and history."

"Precisely. Columbus' expeditions inaugurated a period of exploration, conquest, and colonization that lasted for centuries, helping create the modern Western World."

"However, he had a role in the extinction of the _Taíno_ people, promotion of slavery and allegations of tyranny towards Spanish colonists."

"I agree public perceptions have changed because recent scholars are paying more attention to the negative aspects of his life. Still, you can't overlook the outcomes of his quests. He discovered the Americas and magnetic declination. Those voyages marked the beginning of the European exploration and colonization of the American continents. And are thus a colossal and significant part of Western history. The same history we've been trying to make whole. Am I correct?"

"Um, correction. We're fixing what you broke."

"Ten out of ten." Rufus jested, scooping another handful of popcorn into his bowl.

"No, correction. Only modifying what you prescribed."

The professor sat back and crossed her arms. The abhorrence swiftly came and went on her face, and she cautioned loud enough for him to hear. "I'm not her."

He stared at her, hurt by the reminder.

"At the end of the day, we're undoing what Rittenhouse did centuries after Columbus set sail." The geek added, hoping to intrude upon their sudden inflamed staring contest. "And technically he wasn't the first explorer who discovered America. There's Erik the Red in the 10th century Greenland, and then Leif Erikson in 11th century L'Anse aux Meadows."

Garcia gazed to him deliberately, dissolving the fierce gaze between himself and Lucy. "Columbus' expeditions. They're still considered some of the most important events in world history, kick-starting modern globalism, and resulting in major demographic, commercial, economic, social and political changes. It also resulted in the permanent contact between the two hemispheres. He practically introduced them."

"Okay, now you're just chucking history facts at one another."

Lucy gave Wyatt a terse gesture. "He advised I should defend my territory. Last time I checked, history's my terrain."

"Still." Flynn challenged again. "Made possible by our maritime explorer."

"I can see why you picked him. You could've gleaned some pointers on how _not_ to destroy the past. Heck of a collaboration."

"Oh snap."

"How sweet." Wyatt scoffed, amused when the duo glared at him and Rufus. "Mom and dad are fighting."

"This is tame. Now, when we're on missions."

"They're like a cat and dog. Priceless."

"Do you remember that one jump?"

"Yeah, yeah. Salem."

Bewildered, Rufus scowled at the soldier. "You weren't there."

"I know. But I heard the stories."

Lucy cleared her throat very much annoyed. Flynn snorted, enjoying the moment Rufus and Wyatt each bore a roguish smirk.

"Excuse me." She bumped the shoulder of the man next to her. "Our debate. Not theirs."

"But the kids don't like it when mom and dad fight." Rufus whined.

Facing her, Garcia allowed a boyish smile to move along his lips. She canted her head, disliking the carefreeness he directed towards her. The others gazed curiously too, except for the soldier who frowned upon the strange exchange.

"To whom are they referring to exactly?"

"Mason and Agent Christopher for sure."

"Now hold on a sec. I'm not a prehistoric grandpa."

"And you're saying I am?" Denise asked somewhat insulted.

"No. Not at all Agent Christopher." Mason swiftly pacified. "I have the utmost regard for you."

"Yes, keep grovelling."

"Please do." Flynn agreed sardonically. "The amusement's well worth it."

"Lucy, my dearest Lucy."

"Yes, Jiya, I know. I'm last in line."

"Saving the best for last." Flynn crooned.

"I'll take it as a compliment."

"Get a room." Jiya murmured.

"Please don't."

"No worries in that department grunt. I have one already."

To stave off another unnecessary bicker, Lucy quickly supplied an answer. "Johann Zahn, an expert on light wrote extensively about the camera obscura, magic lantern, telescopes and lenses. He proposed a design for the first handheld reflex camera – 150 years ahead of his time."

"For those who don't know. Camera obscura. It's a natural optical phenomenon where an image on one side of the wall – or screen – is projected through a hole onto a surface opposite the opening. The resulting projection is upside down. It was first coined in the 16th century."

"Thank you, Mason." Playfully, she flicked some popcorn at him. "For the explanation. However, French inventor Joseph Nicéphore Niépce is now widely accepted as the creator of photography. Using a homemade camera, he produced the first partially successful photograph in 1816 on paper coated with silver chloride. Though it didn't survive."

"The _first surviving_ photograph also comes from him and is now in the permanent collection of the University of Texas-Austin. It dates to 1826 or 1827 and is a scene from his window in Burgundy."

Lucy and Rufus shared a comical expression, then recited together. "He's from Texas you know."

"West Texas." Wyatt mumbled.

"Why?"

"Can't choose where I'm born."

"The question wasn't directed at you, Wyatt." Jiya shook her head, then pointed at the professor.

"Because if it weren't for them, along with Mozi a Chinese philosopher and Aristotle, capturing moments wouldn't have had such an impact on the world today. Actually, we should be grateful for the painters. They brought history to life. Etched it for centuries to come."

"Very corny." Garcia whispered on the sly.

"And now we have the Lifeboat." Jiya rejoiced, standing to get another serving of popcorn.

"Can't get more up in your grill like a good ol' trip back to the past."

"For once, I agree." The geek looked shocked when he gazed at Garcia. The man smiled wickedly. "Geez, I must've really gotten used to you. Dang, that's tragic."

"Oh don't be so dramatic. I'm part of the furniture."

"Now that is tragic."

"Family then."

"Don't kid yourself."

"Only when it comes to you, Logan." Standing, Garcia turned the chair around, and while reaching for the bucket, winked at Wyatt. "Only when it comes to you." He nodded his goodbye at Lucy, then walked away. "Thanks for the shindig. It was _educationa__l._"

Wyatt scowled after the retreating form. "Who invited him?"

"No one invites him." Lucy answered reprovingly.

"My point exactly."

* * *

**CHAPTER 20 & 21 FOOTNOTES**:

_PART 1_

#Amelia Earhart; Eugene Bullard; Jacob Parrott – _Wikipedia_

#Titanic Designers – _Who designed the Titanic? (titanicfacts)_

#Nancy Wake – _5 of the world's most famous female spies (lifedeathprizes)_

_PART 2_

#Christopher Columbus – _Wikipedia_

#Johann Zahn; Joseph Nicéphore Niépce – _Who Invented the Camera? A Lesson in the History of Photography (mymodernmet)_


	22. Infinite Rescinded

**INFINITE RESCINDED**

Later that evening a soft knock rang throughout the room. Garcia leaned his elbows on his knees and bent forward, stifling a tearful sigh. He composed himself and took a deep breath.

"Yeah."

Slowly, the door opened, splitting the room between black and white as the light came rushing in behind the small figure. It closed again, leaving behind a cold, obscure atmosphere in its trail.

"Did I wake you?" The soft voice asked.

"Depends on your definition of waking."

"You've lost me."

"Good. Seems I can still surprise you."

Lucy scowled in the darkness. "Can I?"

"Leave the light. Please."

He heard her shuffle cautiously for his bed. The base of its frame creaked when she sat down, and then the room returned to its eerie calm.

"Well, this is new."

"Don't get used to it."

"Don't worry. I can make as if I never made a confession in the dark."

A chuckle from deep within his diaphragm echoed about the room. Lucy trembled with dread.

"And what, my dear Lucy, is on your mind?"

"Can't we shed some light on the subject first?"

"Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"No. It's. I prefer to see your face. I don't want to guess what you're thinking."

"I prefer the suspense." He professed firmly. "I prefer to keep my secrets a secret. I would like to allow you the decency of walking away unconcerned. I prefer the darkness, since what is said will never see the light. Encouraging or embarrassing, they will stay safe and hidden."

A soft, irritated gasp came from her. He covered his eyes with his hands to spare himself the dim outline of her furious glare.

"What's up with you? And Columbus? We both know it's not your first choice."

"I don't know." He confessed weakly.

"And what happened back there with the others?"

"It felt so . . . comfortable. Cosy and liberating. I wanted in on the fun. Can you blame me?"

"You were too direct, too open. Too friendly and carefree."

"It's a sin?"

"It's careless."

"You're breaking my heart."

"I'm not the one who gave the opening to be honest."

"What do you recommend then?"

"You shouldn't act like you are from the future."

"I should be the present-day me?"

"Yes. As if the exchange never happened."

"And you agree with this?"

"I don't have a choice. Stick to the plan."

"I'm trying. Really I am."

"You're drawing unwanted attention to a make-belief and comfy friendship. Our Flynn is an outcast. An irritating SOB. And not on good terms with anyone, especially me. Joining our get-together is unlike Garcia Flynn from 2018."

"I'm not sociable?"

"Only on missions."

"No wonder he chose to leave. The possibilities were infinite, but he left me to a limited version of our timeline."

"He wasn't alone in the decision. It was mutual don't forget."

"Remind me again, Lucy. Why did I agree to let go of what I had?"

The question left a bitter taste in her mouth. She refused to answer.

"That's what I thought. I'm naïve."

"For thinking you could force a change in the present. For freeing this Flynn from my timeline to carry on with yours. Then yes. Yes, you are."

"Your anger is no longer necessary, Lucy."

"Damn well it is." She stood quick as lightning. "He left without notice and you came back whole. How is it fair to anyone of us? That you're living the lie and I'm just fine with it. They don't even know you are another version of you."

"Don't forget my dear Lucy. I advised against it. You chose to go along with it."

"He forced me to, and I'm not _your_ dear Lucy."

Garcia stood silently, gazing sympathetically at her. "So you do care."

"You're breaking my heart." She hissed into the darkness.

"I never had your heart. Remember."

"And neither does he."

"Then you do know why he left you behind." He skulked towards the door without giving away his movement.

"Flynn walked away from his destiny." She said to the empty chair. "He chose the coward's way out."

"And still here you are, stuck in a battle driven timeline with someone who won his a while ago. Longing for your duplicate to offer the same escape, but she hasn't shown up. She abandoned you to your regrets, anger and pain. And left you with a restored version of Garcia Flynn from an alternate timeline. And yet you're still broken, still too stubborn to allow me to help you return to your former glory."

"You make it sound so . . . poetic and miserable."

"It's how I feel. I prefer the confession above the denial. Why do you think I allowed the darkness to hide how we really feel?" The lone light bulb exploded to life, basking them in its sharp gleam. "Because if you see my face, you will notice the same sorrow."

Lucy avoided looking at him, held back tears, and turned away. "The sad thing about the past is that it never truly captures the complete memory. We're left with pictures, books, and verbal stories from eye witnesses. So when Jiya asked the question, meeting with the creators of photography seemed like a sort of thing I would enjoy." She faced him. "But when I snuck my way over here, I realized my mistake. A photo, albeit creative and inspiring, paints a thousand words. But like history, it never fully captures the whole memory. It's a reminder of what you missed. What you regret not doing. The arguments, the reconciliations, the love and distrust. It hides some and exposes another. You make lofty assumptions and place your unique spin on the story."

"Lucy." He stepped towards her, with arms wide open.

She shook her head, stepping away from his embrace. "Don't _Lucy_ me. I don't need your consolation. What I need is for him to come back. And not for you to be so." She hesitated.

"Vulnerable?"

"No." Gradually her eyes shifted to look up at him and noticed the truth about their mutual sorrow. His eyes were red from crying. He gave her a lopsided smile, but it lost momentum. "Why are you so sad?"

"This is where all the hurt and pain is. The suffering. The rejection. I thought I could face it with renewed purpose, but I'm finding it cruel and vindictive. So yes, I prefer to return to my timeline. Though, I'm not one who backs down so easily. If I made it through once, I can certainly make it work again. Make better, wiser decisions." He stooped to her height to look directly at her. "And why are you so sad?"

She shied away from the intense stare. He backed away, giving them the space they needed.

"I know wherever and whenever I go, Flynn has walked a path of destruction. We are one in the same. I have first-hand experience when it comes to the burdens he carries." He began to walk around her. "But in every timeline, you, Lucy, walk the path of forgiveness. Not this time though. Why? Your ruse works so smoothly amidst the group, but when you're alone. You are alone."

"I don't feel it's necessary to explain myself to you."

"Fair enough, I respect your reasoning."

"That's where you are different, Garcia. Why did _you_ decide it's better to take his place when you have everything you want back in your timeline? You gain nothing except for pretence and harsh judgement."

He stopped behind her and positioned his lips beside her left ear. "You know I need no one's permission." He smirked as he sensed her apprehension. "You also know I don't like it when you, of all people, take pity on me." His footsteps echoed as he reinitiated his circling. "I carry on, regardless of the naysayers. And they didn't seem to mind my one moment of . . . what did he call it again?" He faced her, laughing somewhat.

She managed a small smile. "Insanity."

"Yes, I am the crazy one of the bunch."

"I never had the opportunity to ask him why he stuck by us for so long. If I knew he was unhappy." The sentence dangled between them unfinished. Her eyes trailed his movement, finding it soothing.

"I am sorry, Lucy, but he didn't say."

"Neither did you. You found each other, had a mutual understanding and gladly swopped lives. For what?"

"It doesn't matter how many formats you use, you still won't get a straight answer."

"Are you that cruel?"

"No, I'm that loyal."

"Then show me how loyal you are."

She challenged him by stepping into his line of pacing.

He shook his head, protesting ardently. "I won't veer from his request."

"You already have by playing the joker. The team suspect you, Garcia. They know something's wrong."

Stooping to her height once more, he cupped her cheeks, catching her off guard, and demanded eye contact. "You are not important anymore. I have one goal and one alone. I will honour Flynn's request and you're not going to stop me."

Eyes blazing, she grabbed hold of his wrists and tightened her grip. "I did and I will."

"You don't have it in you, Lucy. He said as much. Not once did he trust you. Not once did he believe you were capable of taking down your own family."

The news unsettled her fortitude and her hands fell away from his wrists. At the realization, he too, let go but stayed close to her.

Amazed, he whispered in her ear. "You played me. You actually played me."

She nodded. "He couldn't do it, so he sought you out to kill my family. You've already accomplished it – in your timeline."

"Yes."

"I know. He told me."

"Then why?"

"Because I wanted to know why, out of all the alternate versions of himself, he chose you." She stepped up to him, keeping her eyes fixated on his. Tears began to form and she wiped his away. "Now I know."

Hastily Garcia backed away, causing her to look at him in confusion. "It's been bleak without you."

"He gave you hope."

"Yes." He walked for the door and flipped the switch. The room instantly returned to its black state.

"That's why you can't look at me for long. But can't stay away either."

"Guilty, guilty, guilty."

"You were so enthralled with our debate. I could see the life in your eyes. Something I haven't seen in his. You enjoyed our company. You craved it."

"I've always craved it, but my actions before we joined forces ruined the possibility. It took years to mend the fence between us and when it finally happened, you were gone."

"I am curious."

"You always are."

"If not Columbus and if not the old west, who then?"

He smirked, relishing the innocence in her voice. "You know already."

"I guess I do." She said disappointed.

"And you?" He asked, taking a seat.

"It will always be the same person."

"Yes, you are indeed fond of our Abe Lincoln."

"Tell me, Garcia." She turned towards where she knew the chair stood. "Why are you the only one who helps your duplicates, but none of them helps you?"

"The headaches. The pain. The risk of going back to the same time as your former self. It's a limited time offer. A split decision that will alter the future forever. It's impulsive. Reckless."

"It's you in other words."

It became quiet all of a sudden, tearing at her nerves. He thought deeply, carefully, not wanting to ruin the moment between them. He had waited so long for this, but was afraid she would walk away, again, like she did in his timeline. He heard her frustrated sigh and grinned wryly.

"There are infinite possibilities, and yet a lightning choice. The swop is instant and permanent. However, once they get there, my actions would've altered their past in such a way, it's as if they never left."

The information took curt moments to settle before she rushed forward at the revelation, only to be stopped short by him. "That means."

"I am your Garcia Flynn."


	23. Drifting

**DRIFTING**

_Imagine a river so quiet, so pristine you can clearly see the reflection of the marshland upon its surface. A flawless mirror, serene, with no disturbances. In the backdrop, fish eagles call out to one another. Birds quietly take their rest in the nooks of trees and underbrush. They too, are experiencing an afternoon of pure peaceful bliss._

_Now. Take notice. Turn your gaze to the left. Can you see it? Can you see the ripples of miniscule waves overtaking the still waters?_

"_How?" You ask._

_Perhaps I neglected to inform you about one important detail. _

_The river flows into the ocean. Its ways are determined by the sea. The waves have responded forcing its water up river, turning what was beautiful into something mind-boggling chaotic. The one moment your senses are lulled into tranquillity, and the next moment you're confused. Nevertheless, the nature which surrounds this way of life, they carry on as if nothing's happened; completely oblivious, and completely satisfied with their environment._

_Your eyes comb over the teeming birdlife. "This doesn't bother them?"_

"_But it bothers me."_

Garcia's feet slapped hard against the muddy path. It gave way, dipping down into the snaking water in front of him. Up in the air it scattered like spurting geysers as he entered the grimy torrent. Swiftly, it curbed his momentum, but he pushed forward, mindful of the sludge coating the riverbed. He slipped once, twice and then like a bullet he shot from the waterway and stumbled over the sandy knock. The terrain evened and the stilted house came into view.

He pushed in its direction, weaving through water torrents and in between the shore and jagged rocks. Fear prowled in the recesses of his mind. Angst followed in its path. It propelled him to run faster, harder, urgently for safety. Without warning, the surroundings blackened.

* * *

_Can you hear it? Take notice. Look ahead. Do you see it? Can you hear the grinding reeds drawing near? The roaring of a thousand marching men? The waves, they are angry. They're raging forward, bent on crushing every obstacle daring to stand in their way. _

"_Run! Run!" You urge yourself to obey, but you're rooted to the spot. Fear and alarm keeps you firm in place._

_The chaos threatens to consume you. Once captured, nowhere can you run. Nowhere can you hide. You drift lost and confused, consumed by its roaring fury. Tossed to and about with no hope of finding solid ground._

_You shout above the roar. You brace yourself for the foaming wall of water._

"_But it bothers me."_

Fog drenched his body in a thick-layered garment. Water pooled about his ankles. He waded forward, aimless, sightless while wood creaked beneath his tread. His shoulder hit a wall flaking with washed-out paint. A burgundy basecoat hid within its gaps.

He cursed under his breath and veered in the opposite direction.

The sound of rushing water clashed with the outer rims of the ruins. He followed the echo and crashed into boards nailed across a window frame. Turning left, his hand trailed the cracked wall beside him. It scuffed at his fingertips, but he ignored the feeling and focussed on finding an exit.

His fingers found a nook and he stopped, lifting his other hand to feel for another wall. The inspection came up empty and he took a large stride to the right and walked ahead.

A wave struck closer this time, left behind drifting white foam, and then suddenly his momentum charged forward.

* * *

_What is true? What is real? What do you feel?_

_The world underneath is shifting sand. You can't help but move along. It feels like you've lost the battle, you glide along. _

_Turn your gaze up. Observe how the overcast skies glide on by. They blur, contort, and blend with another. You can't stop the warping. You think your mind's a mess. You grab hold, but your hands find a fleeting land that comes and goes at its own will._

_It's not what you feel in the passing moments. It's what you dread not doing._

_Can you see the world passing you by, leaving behind a blur of nothings and somethings? You reach out, but you can't seem to find the moment the world blinded you. Now you're tossing to and fro, obedient to the chaos and craziness. You're blind, led by a blinding notion._

_What is true and what is real? What do you really know? What do you really feel?_

"_If you see me on the way down, would you reach out and rescue me? Is there something more between you and I? Except for this world falling away beneath us."_

"_I want you to be real again."_

"_But it bothers me."_

An old wooden frame of a shipping dock protruded from the quiet waters. The waves lapped at his feet. His fingers dug deep into the sand, feeling for the solidity absent minutes ago. How he drifted from the crippling ruins. It was a blur. His head felt like exploding.

Like a rag doll, he had been at the mercy of the ocean and what happened before remained a mystery.

Pain spotted his body. He felt the lumps and bruises, the tossing and turning of the waters throwing him against solid objects. Flesh, skin and bone – everything he was. It ached. It stung. It filled his eyes with tears and throat with anguish.

He rolled onto his side and stifled a loud outcry of a painful wailing. He possessed little strength, little to no willpower. Resting seemed like the wise decision. But how could he, if he couldn't remember the why or how?

* * *

_Permit me to ask you a question. _

_Have you ever been lost? Not lost on a hiking trail. Or lost during that one trip you knew you shouldn't have gone alone. It's not even the renowned lost at sea tale._

_Have you experienced a day, week, months or years misplaced? Where, like a fleeting light, they passed you by and you have no idea how?_

_Sit down, open your photo album, and reminisce. You see friends laughing. Strangers gawking. Teasing family members. One annoying cousin. A bizarre niece draped in a clown suit. You smile, laugh, enjoy the antics of a year gone by, but you can't remember sharing it with them._

_Lost. Adrift. Nowhere to be found._

_Now close it. Close your eyes and sit back. Breathe in and breathe out, calm those puzzling thoughts and relax. Take notice. Can you see it? The days rushing in like ocean waves. Feel the anxiety. Sense the dread craving to consume you. It fights, so you fight. You stand your ground; it knocks you off your feet. You're swept along with its furious current. You toss and turn, struggling to control it, but it controls you. You go along. _

_The surroundings pass you by at a break neck speed and you panic, fighting against the torrent. You wade for solid ground. It hauls you away. You go in the opposite direction. It keeps you out of reach._

_Like flickering stars, memories of your life flashes as you smash against bits and pieces. You remember the day you walked out of high school free and ready for the world. From the university of your choice, you're sent on your way with honours. _

_You've conquered the world, and yet now, slow and steady it conquers you._

_One day you wake up, realizing your life's nothing but a blur. The memories fill your house, computer screens and smartphones, and yet you can't remember how you made it through._

"_Wake up." You say. "Smell the roses. Get up and get over it. The new day awaits. Stop bothering about those lost years. Focus on the here and now."_

"_But it bothers me."_

"Why?"

"It's the only memory unanchored." Garcia answered softly.

"I can imagine. You hit rock bottom. Your focus was scattered. You saw one solution and that was to run. Doesn't make you a deserter. It makes you human."

"I don't remember much, but I do remember feeling lost and confused. Then she appeared in a bar in Sao Paulo. Clarity came. Hope came. A way forward presented itself and I couldn't wait to believe the prospect. A hero?" Garcia gazed up at the ceiling and laughed. "Unbelievable."

"Really? You doubted the idea?"

"Of course I did. But after a while, after everything she said came true. Boy oh boy, was I the idiot."

"I recall you said she made you feel quite inadequate at times."

"Naturally. Well-educated, and a professor for a mother. She knows how to make you feel like an ill-informed student in class."

"But."

"Yes, you can say I surprised her every so often. I like the trivia. The guessing games. The disputes. It's fun, irritating, unkind, and enlightening." His eyes sparkled. "She's fascinating. Everyone thinks so, even the men and women we met in the past."

"And yet you're stuck on a time you barely survived."

"Desperate times, I think, we force ourselves to forget, and make ourselves cling to the memories that make us feel all good and syrupy inside."

"Sentimentality?"

"Yes."

"Didn't peg you for one."

He laughed carefree. "Neither did I."

"So then what's true? What's real? Not what you felt, but what you know for certain."

"Odd questions." He looked to the stranger, bemused.

"You mentioned them."

"I did, didn't I?" Garcia stroked his chin, thoughtful.

"Who caught you on the way down? Who lifted you up and set you free?"

"Does it really matter now?"

"This whole discussion began with you wanting to recall a distant memory. To fill in the gaps to see if it was important or not."

"True."

"So?"

"I don't know."

"Don't know what precisely?"

"I didn't have a lifeline back then. Now." He paused, gaze narrowed to slits, but then hope lit up in his eyes. "Now, I do. I'm not alone anymore."

"And you're satisfied with the result?"

"More than I've ever been."

"You don't mind those lost days at all?"

He smiled, happy and free. "Hell no. She gave me my life back; gave me purpose and intent. The journal is a roadmap. I followed it. Life changed. My girls, they gave me strength and courage."

"It's good to hear."

"Yes, yes it is."

"And still you need to answer the questions."

Frowning, he looked at him dubiously. "What are you implying?"

"You chose a memory broken and adrift. Craved to fit it together and yet suddenly you don't want to anymore."

"I don't hear the question." He said somewhat annoyed.

The bar tender smiled sympathetically. "What if you're still lost?"

"What?"

"Look around you, Señor."

Sceptical, Garcia did as the stranger instructed and gazed about the dimly lit room. A green, white, and red candy cane basking in a lone light mounted on the wall to his left. A row of bar stools lined up to his right. He rubbed at his weary eyes.

"The pretty Senorita left hours ago."


End file.
